


Like A Siren In The Night

by whoknows



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:28:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17081147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoknows/pseuds/whoknows
Summary: “There is aninfestationin my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.





	Like A Siren In The Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ifthat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifthat/gifts).



> Hi, ifthat! I went with your historical alpha landlord Harry/omega tenant Louis prompt. I've had a serious case of writer's block lately, combined with a shortage of free time in my personal life, so I'm afraid there's not much in the way of plot in this fic. I really struggled with writing this, but I hope you enjoy it and that I wasn't too heavy on the d/s stuff for your liking. I pretty much completely failed on the historical aspect of it - it's pretty much blink and you'll miss it, so for that I apologize. Anyway, here's to you and your prompt!

Harry wakes to a pounding on the door. He lies in bed for as long as possible, ignoring it, before finally giving in to the insistent knocking and getting up. He takes his time pulling on his robe and checking his reflection in the mirror, smoothing down his hair the best he can, before ambling down the stairs to the front door.

He already knows what’s going to greet him on the other side. Inhaling deeply, he stands there for another minute, resigning himself to his fate. The knocking never ceases.

Finally, he times it just so, and the door opens mid-knock, causing the person on the other side to stumble forward a bit.

“There is an _infestation_ in my home,” Louis hisses, righting himself quickly and pushing his way past Harry, heading directly for the kitchen. He’s rather haphazardly dressed himself, a coat thrown on over a loose flannel shirt and black pants, slippers on his feet.

Harry resists the urge to sigh, closing the door and trailing behind him slowly. “What kind of infestation?”

For all he knows, Louis is going to claim that there’s a ghost infestation. Harry has no idea what the end game is here – all he knows is that Louis has found at least three complaints a week to bring up since he’s been living on Harry’s property, and he’s been living here for six months.

It’s way too many fucking complaints, is what Harry is saying. Especially when most of them are ridiculous to start with.

“An _insect_ infestation,” Louis says, reaching up into Harry’s cupboard and rummaging around for his favourite mug, making a sound of victory as he pulls it down.

Damn. Harry thought he’d put it up high enough that Louis wouldn’t be able to reach it without climbing onto the counter.

“An insect infestation,” Harry repeats flatly. It’s not that he doesn’t believe Louis, per se, but Louis has a habit of stretching the truth.

“Yes,” Louis says, setting the mug down on the counter and spinning back around, marching up to Harry and thrusting his arm under his face. “I have bites, you see?”

It’s too close to see anything but the material covering his arm. Harry pulls it down, tapping the sleeve for emphasis. “No.”

Louis rolls his eyes, pulling his arm out of Harry’s grasp and shrugging out of the jacket, letting it pool on the floor between their feet. He rolls up his sleeve before putting his arm back in Harry’s face, a little farther away this time. 

There is a bite mark marring the soft skin on the inside of Louis’ arm, just below the bend of his elbow. It could be any kind of insect bite – a small red, swollen bump that barely looks like it itches. It’s there, though, and Harry can’t just brush it off. He resists the urge to sigh again, pushing his hair out of his face and gesturing towards the door. “Let’s go check it out, then, shall we?”

 

 

The walk to Louis’ flat only takes a minute, but it still takes them ten to actually get there. Harry makes Louis put on proper shoes before letting him out the door – it might be London, but it’s still winter, and the last thing he needs is for Louis to get frostbite on his toes. He’d never hear the end of it.

Somehow, it would inevitably be Harry’s fault.

They reach Louis’ flat. Harry enters first, unsure of what to expect. It’s in slight disarray, like it always is, but he doesn’t trip over any shoes at the front door so that’s something, at least. It doesn’t look any different than it normally does.

“So what exactly am I looking at, here?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest and nudging a stray jumper into a corner with his foot.

“I’ll show you,” Louis says, pushing in front of him and leading him to the kitchen, where he points wordlessly at the window over the sink.

Harry stares at it for a few hard seconds. This time, he can’t stop the short, aggravated sigh from leaving his mouth. “Louis, that’s a spider.”

“Yes, an _insect_ ,” Louis says. He’s standing behind Harry as though he’s actually afraid of it, and it’s just – it’s way too early in the morning to be dealing with this.

“It’s _one spider_ ,” Harry says, even as he rips a paper towel off the holder and hoists himself up onto the counter to deal with it. “Are you telling me you’re too scared to deal with one single spider?”

Behind him, Louis makes a short, aggravated noise, as though he has responses tugging him in two different directions, before settling on, “Yes. I’m an omega, we’re too weak and helpless to be able to kill insects on our own.”

There’s nothing Harry can say that would be appropriate to that. Instead, he kills the spider, balling it up into the paper towel and dropping it into the sink before hopping off the counter. “Right, well, spider killed. Is there anything else I can do for you on this fine morning or can I get back to my nice warm bed?”

Louis opens his mouth, and Harry already knows it was the wrong thing to say.

He doesn’t get back to his own place until noon.

 

 

“There’s something wrong with my washing machine,” Louis announces.

Very manfully, Harry does not jump. Like any sane person, he expects to walk into the home he lives in by himself and find it empty of any other human life. Apparently, that’s too much to ask.

Louis is lying on the couch, head propped up by a pillow from Harry’s bed, reading Harry’s newspaper. The only surprising thing about this picture is that he’s not wearing Harry’s robe as well.

“Is it that you’re not at your house running it?” Harry asks, doubling back to hang Louis’ jacket up in the front hall instead of leaving it in a crumpled ball in the middle of the floor.

Louis makes a loud, exaggeratedly thoughtful noise, just to ensure Harry can hear it, Harry’s pretty sure. “Or it could be the fact that it’s full of water, dangerously close to overflowing, and won’t drain no matter what I do. But, you know, it could be the fact that I’m here instead of staring at it and panicking.”

Abruptly, Harry abandons his cause of getting Louis’ jacket hung up properly and makes a hasty entrance back into the living room. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

The newspaper crinkles as Louis flicks it, holding it in front of his face. “Nope.”

This is definitely not what Harry wanted to come home to. Instead of throwing a big fit about it, he inhales slowly and turns back around, putting his jacket and boots back on. If he doesn’t deal with this now it’s just going to get worse.

So much for sitting down to a nice, hot dinner. None of Harry’s other tenants seem to have as many issues as Louis does. Or maybe they just don’t feel comfortable bothering him at all hours of the day like Louis does. At this point, Harry has no idea which is more likely to be true. Maybe it’s both.

Louis’ front door is unlocked. Harry frowns deeply at it, handle turned, before he enters, heading straight for the laundry room.

Thankfully, there’s no water on the floor. Louis wasn’t exaggerating, though. The machine is filled to the brim, close to overflowing. He must have unplugged the cord before going to Harry’s house, as it’s sitting trapped underneath a container of detergent on a shelf, preventing it from getting wet or electrocuting Harry.

“I tried reaching in to see if there was some kind of blockage in the drain, but my arms are too short,” Louis says from behind him. Harry glances at him over his shoulder kind of absently, notes that he’s wearing Harry’s thick black jacket, even though it’s not cold enough out to really warrant it, and looks back at the machine.

“Hopefully that’s all it is,” Harry says, shrugging out of the jacket he’s wearing. Which isn’t his thick black one, because apparently Louis’ stolen it. “I really don’t want to have to purchase another one.”

He folds the jacket, about to stash it on the shelf with the detergent, but Louis makes an impatient noise and takes it from him. Harry murmurs a soft gratitude, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

“You’d probably have a better chance of staying dry if you just took it off altogether,” Louis says helpfully. The look Harry shoots him is half wry, half exasperated, before he contemplates the task ahead of him.

There’s really no other option than to just plunge his hands into the cold water and feel around, so that’s what Harry does. At least the water isn’t as cold as he was expecting, although a bit sloshes over the sides of the machine as he reaches deeper, feeling around. His fingers hit the drain, but he can’t find anything to pull out.

Nothing. There’s nothing in the machine except water.

“What did you do with the clothes you had in here?” Harry asks suspiciously. The machine may be empty of anything but water, but that water has a filmy feel to it, like there was soap in it.

“Well, they were completely soaked, so I had to finish washing them,” Louis says, and Harry can practically hear the shrug in his voice. “They’re in your dryer right now.”

Of course they are. Honestly, Harry already kind of knew the answer to the question when he posed it.

“Well, I have no idea what’s wrong with it, but I don’t think it’s going to get fixed tonight,” Harry says eventually, pulling his hand out of the murky water and shaking it off. His arm is wet all the way up to his elbow, completely soaking the folded edges of his sleeve. When he straightens up, there’s a wet spot on the front, where he was pressed up against the machine.

Harry heaves a sigh of annoyance, turning around to face Louis. “I’ll call the company in the morning. I think it’s still under warranty, so they should be able to send someone out to fix it pretty soon.”

A towel hits him directly in the face before Harry’s even finished turning around. He fumbles to catch it before it hits the floor.

“Told you that you should have just taken your shirt off,” Louis says. “You’re completely soaked. I had to change mine after I tried to unplug it earlier.”

He couldn’t have told Harry this earlier? Really?

“Thanks,” Harry says dryly, rubbing at his arms briskly with the towel before starting in on his shirt. The rubbing gets his arms dry, but it doesn’t do anything for his shirt. “That’s not at all suspicious timing to tell me that information.”

Louis smirks openly at him, arms crossed over his chest. Leaning up against the wall, he looks nothing like the demure omegas that still grace the covers of haute couture magazines, buttoned up so every inch is covered. No, Louis is unbuttoned just enough for slivers of skin to peek out at his throat, his chest, his wrists and arms. It’s a normal, everyday look omegas have adopted, nothing Harry hasn’t seen on a thousand other omegas, but for some reason it looks different on Louis. Tempting.

“What can I say, I had a feeling you would look like that if I didn’t say anything earlier.”

Maybe Harry should be prickling with outrage at the unreserved ogling Louis is doing. Instead, he can’t help the answering smirk on his own face, aware that he might be flexing his arm muscles as he mirrors Louis’ stance, folding his arms across his chest.

“You’re too cheeky for your own good,” Harry tells him. They stand there for a minute, looking at each other in silence

“I think I have a shirt you can borrow for now,” Louis says, breaking the lull. “Can’t let you go home all wet like that, can I?”

It sounds vaguely like an innuendo, but not enough that Harry can quite put his finger on it, so he lets it go. “That would be great, thanks.”

He follows Louis up the stairs to the top floor, hesitating at the door as Louis disappears into one of the bedrooms. Even from here, Louis’ scent is strong, familiar. Going into the room would undoubtedly be overwhelming. Harry already catches himself letting his eyes linger on Louis too long, going into his bedroom would only worsen that.

“Are you just going to stand out there all day?” Louis’ voice floats to him. Harry takes care not to steel himself before putting one foot in front of the other, entering the room. It’s decorated sparsely, a few trinkets and framed photos sitting atop a dresser and not much else. It doesn’t look at though Louis has done much to change it since he moved in a few months ago.

The smell, though. It does smell overwhelmingly like Louis in here, sleep heavy the way Harry’s own bedroom does in the morning. The scent is overwhelming but it’s quiet at the same time, like Harry would barely even notice it if he were used to it. As though the only reason Harry is noticing it now is because he’s never been in here before.

It smells good, too. Mouth watering. Like peppermint and chocolate. Sweet and fresh.

“Here,” Louis says, pulling a shirt out of the dresser, pushing the drawer closed with his hip. He holds it out to Harry, shaking it impatiently when Harry doesn’t move closer to take it.

There’s something so normal about this. Standing in the place Louis sleeps, as impersonal as the furnishings are, feels easy. Right. The times Harry’s gone home with an omega, their bedrooms had never smelled like this. Granted, Harry was busy with other things those times, but he would have known if any of them had have smelled like this.

“Thanks,” Harry says, belated, forcing himself to finish crossing the few feet between them, taking the shirt from Louis’ hand.

“I suppose you want me to turn around while you change, save your virtue?” Louis asks, eyebrow raised.

It’s a dare, and Harry has always been weak-willed when it comes to turning down dares. He pulls his wet shirt off over his head, tugging a little when it sticks to his chest, letting it drop the floor between his feet. He doesn’t hurry to tug the new one on after all, smoothing it out in between his hands first, before pulling it on one arm at a time.

By the time he’s finished, Louis has gone from making fun of him to staring, lips parted, tongue pink and wet as it swipes over them. Flush in the cheeks, he looks like everything Harry’s best dreams are made of.

Belatedly, Harry realizes that the shirt is a good fit. Too good a fit, in fact.

“This is my shirt, isn’t it.”

Louis blinks at him slowly. “It might be,” he allows. He’s doing it again – the thing he does with his eyelashes that makes him seem sweet and innocent. As if Harry is honestly going to fall for it every time an omega bats their eyelashes at him. He’d never get anything done if that was the case.

Harry should probably be asking how long Louis has had this shirt for. When he stole it. Harry didn’t even notice it was gone, though, so at this point it’s probably his own fault.

“It’s a good thing you pay rent, I can use the money towards replacing all the things you’ve taken from my house,” Harry grumbles, heading for the bedroom door. He doesn’t particularly want to leave the room, but the longer he stands here the more comfortable he feels. Given enough time, it could probably trick his brain into thinking there’s something there that’s not.

“Hey, while you’re here, can you replace some lightbulbs for me?” Louis asks, following him out the door. He leaves it open, Harry can’t help noticing.

“You do know that’s not part of my job, right?” Harry asks, just to make sure. Sometimes he thinks Louis has no idea what Harry’s actual obligations are in terms of maintenance. Other times, he’s absolutely sure that Louis does know and is just seeing what lengths Harry will go to in order to appease him.

Honestly, most of the time it’s easier to just do as Louis asks, even when he isn’t actually required to. Harry’s perfectly fine with saying no to everyone else, but Louis has this special ability to annoy him into doing something just to get him to shut up about it.

“You can never repeat this to anyone, but I’m not exactly the tallest person around,” Louis says, demonstrating by stretching his arms up above his head. His shirt rides up his stomach as he does, threatening to expose an inch or two of bare skin. “I have trouble reaching the light fixtures.”

Harry has to concentrate on not staring at that spot on Louis’ belly, still covered by soft cotton, just barely. They both know he’s absolutely giving in when he agrees to change the lightbulbs.

 

 

The power goes out around 6pm. Harry’s watching the local news when it happens, trying to see what the weather is expected to be tomorrow. It flickers on and off for a few minutes before it seems to give in to the inevitable and goes out for good.

Harry walks into no fewer than three things on his quest into the kitchen to find a flashlight. He’s pretty sure there’s one in his junk drawer somewhere. Hopefully it has working batteries – he doesn’t usually have much need for it so he doesn’t know for sure.

A few minutes later, he’s succeeded in finding it and using it to get some candles lit. The last power outage they had lasted several hours, so he doesn’t have much hope that this one will end soon. It is December, though, so the next thing he does is take the candles with him to his bedroom so he can get the fireplace going. It’ll take a while to warm the room up without the heat on, so even though it’s not yet six-thirty he wants to get the room ready. Sleeping in the frigid air has never really appealed to him. It’s why he doesn’t go camping.

With no electricity, Harry picks up the book he’s been reading off his nightstand. _Rosemary’s Baby_ was published a few months ago now, and Harry hasn’t gotten a chance to finish it yet. His social circle is still talking about it, all these months later, and he’s determined not to fall even further behind.

Horror fiction isn’t a genre Harry has read a lot of, and it doesn’t take long before his skin is itching with the urge to get up and check all the dark corners of the house, just to ensure there’s nothing lurking there. It’s an irrational urge, one that he might not be having if it wasn’t for the power outage. The book lives up to its reputation, getting more and more intense as Rosemary’s pregnancy progresses, and Harry’s hanging onto every word.

It’s no surprise that he jumps at the sudden movement in the hallway, caught off-guard and unaware of his surroundings. For a split second, his heart pounds in his chest, defenseless and exposed.

Then the scent of the person catches up to him, and Harry relaxes, putting the book back down, still open to his page. “Why are you always breaking into my house?”

“I knocked,” Louis says. “You just didn’t hear it, I guess.”

Clad in a jacket that’s seen better days, a couple of sizes too big for him, wearing actual boots for once in his life, Louis looks completely miserable. He’s even wearing a hat.

Underneath his blankets, with the fire roaring in the corner and engrossed in his book, Harry hadn’t even noticed the temperature dropping. Clearly it has, though – there’s a chill in the air that wasn’t there before and frost creeping up the corners of the windows. Soon, it will likely feel a lot more than just chilly.

“You alright?” Harry checks. Louis standing there quietly may be something Harry hasn’t seen before. By now Louis would normally be going on about some kind of problem at his place that he may or may not have completely made up. The fact that he isn’t is kind of troubling.

Louis sighs, breath escaping his lungs heavily, misting slightly. In addition to the hat, he’s got a scarf wound around his throat and gloves on his hands, which Harry catches a glimpse of when Louis waves a hand, a little dismissively. “Yeah. You know, just – cold.”

It doesn’t sound like a ploy. Harry’s well acquainted with what Louis sounds like when it’s a ploy by now. Pretty much every time Louis is in his house, it’s been a ploy of some kind, even if Harry doesn’t understand the purpose of it.

“The power’s out,” Harry says slowly. He can’t help but feel as though they’re having two different conversations.

“It is,” Louis agrees. He looks small, standing in the doorway of Harry’s bedroom, not a single inch over the threshold. “And my flat doesn’t have a fireplace.”

That’s – actually a real problem. All of Harry’s other tenants are families with older children, plenty of people to share body heat with and presumably enough blankets to go around. Louis is the only one who lives alone, and he doesn’t have the fireplace that Harry’s house does.

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, and then, spitting out the words like he’s trying to get them out there, “Can I stay here tonight?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate so much as he forgets how to speak. His mouth opens, but no words come out.

“I don’t own enough blankets to keep warm,” Louis continues, really laying it on thick. “My family doesn’t live in the city, and I can’t afford to stay in the hotel for a night. I’m pretty sure I would freeze if I tried to stay by myself.”

This is the ploy, then. Harry knew there would be one eventually, but he didn’t expect this. “The only fireplace I have is this one,” he says, gesturing in front of him. His fingertips are cold from the exposure to the air. It’s not uncomfortable, not yet, but he thinks it’s only a matter of time before it gets there.

He can’t send Louis away.

“I know,” Louis says. A shiver works through his body, visible to Harry’s eye, and he knows it was probably intentional. It doesn’t do anything to curb the desire he has to ensure it doesn’t happen again. “I don’t have a problem sharing a bed with you.”

Again, all the words Harry knows fly out of his head. He’s been two steps behind throughout this entire conversation, and now it feels like he’s slugging through the mud trying to catch up.

“You can be trusted, can’t you?” Louis asks. It’s suspicious, that he hasn’t come any closer. Definitely part of his plan. “Nothing can happen to me if I’m with you.”

_Nothing can_ , not _nothing will_. It’s a deliberate choice of words, meant to appeal to all of Harry’s most buried instincts. Nothing can happen to Louis if Harry is there to protect him from it. Like a foregone conclusion, the way he says it.

“It’s not exactly proper,” Harry says, managing to find his voice, even as he leaves _because you’re an omega and I’m an alpha_ unsaid.

Louis raises an eyebrow, disappearing underneath the wool of his hat, taking a deliberate step into the room. “And letting me freeze to death is?”

They both know he’s not going to allow Louis to go back to his own house, not with a power outage and an ice storm passing through the city. “You can take the bed,” Harry says, watching as Louis takes another step closer. “I can sleep on the floor for the night.”

It’s not ideal, but it’s the best solution he can think of right now. Maybe even the only solution. The only one that will keep them both safe, anyway.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry,” Louis says. He bends down, so slow the only reason Harry doesn’t cry from how beautiful a picture it makes is because of the over-sized jacket swallowing Louis’ body, pulling his left foot from his boot with much more grace than he should be allowed to have. He puts it down against the floor and hisses in a deep breath that doesn’t sound entirely fake. “The floor already feels like ice, it’s only going to get worse during the night. There’s no way you’ll be able to sleep there. We’ll have to share the bed.”

Protesting would only make Harry look bad, especially when it sounds so reasonable on the surface. Too virtuous or too alpha or _something_. He doesn’t know how Louis would twist it, but he knows there would be some kind of twist.

“Okay,” Harry says, because it’s about all he _can_ say. “I’ll go look for some more blankets. And dinner, we should probably do that. Have you eaten yet?”

He’s well aware that he’s babbling as he gets up from the bed, striding past Louis without waiting for an answer, on his way to the linen closet. Faintly, he can hear Louis laughing softly behind him, but it doesn’t sound like mocking laughter, which is good. Harry can deal with that.

So. Blankets. Harry can do this.

 

 

“This really isn’t necessary, you know,” Louis remarks, standing in the doorway. His feet are bare, and sure, the power has only been out for a few hours, but the temperature in the house has already dropped to the freezing mark. He needs to put some socks on, at least.

Harry stands up straight and surveys his work. It’s not ideal, but it’ll do. He should never have agreed to this in the first place, but here they are. It’s too late to go back on it. “It really is,” he disagrees. “Do you want the left side or the right?”

He normally sleeps on the left. He knows even as he says it that it’s the side Louis is going to pick. 

“I’ll take this side,” Louis says, drifting to the bed and laying his hand down on the left. Abruptly, the line of pillows down the middle looks inconsequential, like it’s not going to be enough to keep either of their virtues intact. The scent of Louis here, in Harry’s bedroom, about to climb into his bed, is fucking with all of his senses. The longer they stand here, caught in this weird in between moment, the less sure Harry is that it’s simply due to Louis being an omega. It feels like more than that.

Harry clears his throat, forcing himself to snap out of it. “Okay,” he says, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just going to go – ” He doesn’t finish the sentence, fleeing for the sanctuary of the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind himself.

“Okay,” he repeats, turning the tap on and letting the water run, staring at himself in the mirror. He can do this. He can let Louis sleep in his bed, on the side he normally sleeps in, sweet omega scent of him tangled up in Harry’s covers, in Harry’s house, all over his skin. It’s just for the warmth, nothing more. Louis’ flat doesn’t have a fireplace in the bedroom like Harry’s does. It’s just survival.

He can’t even convince himself that it’s true. He doesn’t need more than a minute to poke holes in this flimsy plan, enough that he knows he should never have agreed to it in the first place. Should have sent Louis to a hotel, put enough distance between them so he would be able to curb his desire to do something he really shouldn’t.

Louis is here now, though, and there’s no going back on that. And Harry can’t hide in the bathroom for the rest of the night, especially not with the temperature dropping so much he can see his own breath. Right now, this is their only option. So Harry just has to deal with it.

“Okay,” he says, firmer this time, and turns the water off, leaving the bathroom with the door a bit ajar. 

It’s now or never.

When he gets back to the bedroom, Louis is already tucked up into the bed, curled up on his side, facing away from the middle. It’s something to be grateful for. He doesn’t know whether he’d be able to handle Louis in his bed, looking at him with a thin line of pillows separating them. The thought should be ridiculous, yet somehow it’s not.

Without saying anything, Harry crosses the room, climbing in on the empty side of the bed, the side he doesn’t normally sleep on. He gets underneath the mound of blankets, but he doesn’t turn onto his side, lying flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Shadows flicker across it, courtesy of the plethora of candles Louis had lit earlier, claiming the ones Harry had done weren’t enough. Despite the power outage, lying under this pile of blankets feels warm, cozy. 

He can smell Louis. Warm, soft, sleepy omega tangled up in Harry’s sheets, it’s about all Harry can smell. Before now, he’d made a point of trying not to catch too many whiffs of Louis’ scent, tried to be as polite about it as possible, and he can’t do that anymore.

Louis is all he can smell.

“You should blow out the candles,” Louis murmurs eventually. His voice breaks the stillness of the room, and Harry looks at him more out of surprise than anything else. He hadn’t thought Louis was sleeping, but the minutes had been ticking by without either of them speaking, lulling him into a false sense of security. He should have known Louis wouldn’t let it lie for long.

“Right,” Harry says. “You’re right.” 

He sits back up, cold air hitting him as the blankets slide down, blowing out the candles on the nightstand one by one. Once he’s finished, he goes to lie back down.

Again, Louis’ voice stops him. “The ones on this side, too.”

There’s absolutely nothing preventing him from blowing them out himself. If Harry was smart, he would point that out.

Then again, if Harry was actually smart, Louis wouldn’t be in his bed right now. So instead of pointing it out, he leans over the other way, planting his elbow behind the line of pillows, on his side, ready to blow them out. 

Louis rolls over before Harry gets a chance to do that, on his back halfway underneath Harry’s body, and Harry kind of gets stuck like that, leaning over Louis, watching the candlelight dance over his face.

Somehow, Harry’s necklace has slipped out of his shirt, and it’s dangling an inch or so above Louis’ chest now, almost touching. Louis’ gaze drifts down to it, and slowly, so slowly Harry could have done a million things to stop him, he reaches up and loops his fingers through it, tugging gently.

Harry is well aware that physically, he’s stronger than Louis. Knowing that doesn’t do anything to stop the way the muscles in his arm tremble, threatening to give out.

“Thank you,” Louis whispers, “for letting me stay here with you.”

A thousand responses fly through Harry’s mind, ranging from sweet to obscene. Every instinct he has is telling him to kiss Louis, damn the consequences. He’s never been as attracted to an omega as he is right now.

Harry blows out the candle and retreats to his side of the bed. Eventually, he says, “Goodnight, Louis.”

There’s a smirk audible in Louis’ voice as he responds, “Goodnight, Harry.”

 

 

Harry doesn’t think he’s going to be able to fall asleep. Even after he closes his eyes, Louis is all he can smell. For a long time, Harry lies there, cock half hard in his sleep pants, inhaling the fresh scent of peppermint. The scent of Louis’ arousal doesn’t do anything to help matters, wet little omega right beside him in Harry’s bed, both of them feeding off each other. Thoughts and images fly through Harry’s head, all of the things he would do to Louis given half the chance.

Eventually, Harry does fall asleep. He must, because when he wakes up, the line of pillows separating them has been kicked off the bed, and he has Louis in his arms. Louis’ back is pressed up against his chest, arse nestled right into the curve of Harry’s groin, soft skin of the nape of his neck millimeters away from Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s fully hard. With only a few thin layers of cloth separating their skin, the temptation to rock his hips forward, grind into Louis’ arse, is almost overwhelming. It would be a rough drag for a minute, before the pleasure becomes overwhelming. With his palm flat against Louis’ belly, Harry could pull him back into every thrust, put him exactly where Harry wants him, where it would feel the best for both of them. It would only be a few minutes before Louis would be so wet he’d be soaking through his own sleep pants, and then Harry’s, until his slick would be all over Harry’s cock. Harry could put his hand down the back of them, feel him where Louis is the wettest, slide a single finger into the tight clench of his arse.

Pressure builds against his cock. Friction. Harry inhales, sharp enough to puncture a lung, and for a second he thinks his body is moving on instinct, without his brain’s conscious permission, before he hears it.

Soft, quiet little noises, the ones that come out of someone when they’re really turned on. Louis is moving against him, hips making tiny circles, pressing himself back against Harry’s cock. Harry can’t help moving in response, grinding forwards, into the motion. It’s only for a second, before his brain comes fully back into consciousness, and then he’s jerking backwards, practically falling off the side of the bed.

Louis makes another noise, still soft. He rolls over a bit with the force of Harry’s movement, onto his back, blinks open tired eyes. “Harry?”

Now that Harry’s properly awake, he can smell the sleep soft scent clinging to Louis’ skin. He might have been drifting towards consciousness while he was moving against Harry, but he wasn’t actually awake. He was reacting to being in the same bed as an alpha. It was just instinct.

“Sorry,” Harry says heavily, clearing his throat. It doesn’t do anything to lessen the hoarseness of his voice as he continues, “Just – sleeping, you know?” He makes an awkward motion with one hand that doesn’t mean anything at all, landing back on his lap.

Early morning sunlight is streaming in through the open curtains, washing the room with a heady glow. Harry’s fingers itch with the desire to touch Louis’ skin, the curve of his shoulder where his sleep shirt has slipped down a bit.

“You don’t have to apologize, Harry,” Louis says. He’s still lying down, perfectly comfortable in Harry’s bed, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to move anytime soon. “We’re both adults, and you can’t honestly tell me that you didn’t expect to wake up like that. Your pillow defense was never going to survive the night.”

Harry’s eyes narrow, just a little, as he frowns. He was the one to apologize, but it should really have been Louis with the apology. Louis is the one who started it, after all. Harry’s pretty sure of that.

“Besides,” Louis continues, stretching his arms up above his head and arching up, blankets slipping down and turning what should be an innocent early morning stretch into something much more obscene, “it’s not like I’m a blushing virgin. You’re not the first knothead to try to mount me.”

Harry’s mouth falls open. “I did _not_ try to mount you,” he objects. Before he knows it, he’s on his knees, leaning over Louis, all but jabbing a finger into his chest.

“No,” Louis agrees easily, shrugging a shoulder, the one in danger of slipping free of his shirt. “You could have, though. I wouldn’t have wanted to stop you.”

The statement takes every ounce of self-righteous anger right out of Harry’s spine. He deflates a little, staying up on his knees, considering.

It’s no secret to anyone that he finds Louis to be one of the most attractive omegas he’s ever laid eyes on. In fact, it’s so far from being a secret that he’s pretty sure Louis himself knows. Likely, it’s why Louis seems to enjoy pushing his buttons so much.

“It wouldn’t be ethical, though,” Harry says. “I’m your landlord, the last thing you should be doing is worrying about whether I would try to have you exchange sexual favours for fixing things in your flat or lowering your rent.”

Louis arches an eyebrow at him. “Do you really think that you would be the one to strong-arm someone into something out of the two of us?”

That’s not the point. “You know what I mean.”

“I do know what you mean,” Louis says, nodding. “I also know that your name isn’t the one I write on my rent cheques, and that technically speaking, you’re only the property manager. If I really wanted to, I could go over your head with anything I needed to, directly to your parents.” 

That – actually sounds like something Louis would do.

“You promise?” Harry asks, aware of how silly it sounds when said out loud. It’s something he needs to know, though. Needs to hear said out loud.

“Harry Styles,” Louis says solemnly, completely failing to hold back his smirk, “I promise that if you do anything I don’t want I will tattle on you to your parents.”

Well. Okay.

It takes Harry approximately five seconds to decide that this is something he can have. It doesn’t hurt that Louis looks the way he does, hair mussed in a way that should look more look bedhead than intentionally styled, lounging in Harry’s bed.

“Just a couple of friends, having some casual fun,” Louis presses. “Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious, huh,” Harry says. “What would you have me do, if we were to indulge in something that’s not serious?”

Louis shrugs a shoulder, the movement small and dainty in a way that must be intentional. “I’m sure you have some ideas. Some flexible ones.”

Harry leans over, sliding his fingers under the sleeve of Louis’ sleep shirt, running slowly up his arm. “Flexible,” he repeats thoughtfully. “I’m not sure you can bend far enough for all the things I’ve imagined doing to you.”

Louis leans into the touch, bring them closer together. Their knees are touching now, underneath the covers, and the power is still out but the room feels warm regardless. Somehow, Harry doesn’t think they’re going to have to worry about keeping warm for the rest of the day. 

“Did you think about it a lot?” Louis asks. The scent of him gets sharper as he leans in, enticing Harry into doing something about it. “The things you would do to me if you had the chance?”

“More than you’re going to get me to admit,” Harry answers, sliding his hand up higher, exploring the warm, silky skin underneath his fingertips. Louis moves into it, pushing, as though he’s going to climb right into Harry’s lap, and Harry uses the hand he has on Louis’ shoulder to push him back, keep him pinned against the headboard.

If the progression of his hand wasn’t slowed by Louis’ shirt, Harry would have kept going, curled his fingers around Louis’ throat loosely. Just enough for him to feel it, see how Louis would react to it. If he would go loose, languid, underneath it. Harry thinks he would.

“You touched yourself, thinking about it,” Louis says. “Didn’t you.”

It’s not a question. Harry doesn’t treat it like one, taking his hand out from under Louis’ sleeve, easing it between Louis’ knee and the mattress, then using it to slide Louis down the bed, until his head is neatly atop the pillow. Exactly where Harry wants him. 

“I think I should be asking the questions, here,” Harry says, leaning over Louis. Their faces are only a few inches apart, bodies touching where Harry’s hand hasn’t left Louis’ knee and at their hips. “Have you touched yourself, thinking about the things you wanted me to do to you?”

Louis sucks in a breath between his teeth, almost hissing. Harry’s barely even touched him yet.

He doesn’t answer, though. Harry’s going to make him.

“Laid in bed at night, unable to sleep because you couldn’t stop thinking about me?” Harry continues. Heat radiates off Louis, scorching Harry in the best possible way. “Tossing and turning, trying not to give into the temptation to touch yourself, make yourself feel good?”

Harry has to pause for a second himself, thinking about it. Of all the ways he’s imagined Louis, fantasized about him, he never stopped to think about what Louis would look like all curled up in his own bed, touching himself while he thinks about the variety of ways Harry would touch him.

“You have, haven’t you,” Harry decides, putting his elbow into the mattress on the other side of Louis’ head, leaning over him. They’re not touching anymore than they were before, but somehow it feels like they are. “Got yourself so turned on thinking about it you just couldn’t stand it anymore, until you had to do something about it. Touched your cock, your arse. Your nipples, thinking about how I would touch them if I were there.”

Louis shakes his head slowly, toying with the top button of Harry’s shirt. “You’re dreaming.”

If only Harry had been having those dreams. The images are threatening to overflow his imagination right now. Maybe if he’d been dreaming about it, it wouldn’t be quite so overwhelming right now.

“Did you ride your fingers, wishing it was my knot?” Harry continues, leaning down some more, until their chests brush. “How many did it take until it was enough, until it got you off?”

The button slips through its hole as easy as breathing. Louis’ hands slide down to the next one, and Harry does nothing to stop him. “It never felt like enough,” Louis says, blinking sweet eyes up at him. “Could never make it feel like the real thing.”

The alpha in Harry rears, pleased. The sensible part of him knows it’s a line – he’d bet his life on Louis having slept with his fair share of alphas, and there’s nothing wrong with that at all. Of course not. It just means that Louis definitely knows the type of thing to say to stroke an alpha’s ego.

“How many did you use?” Harry asks, as the second button pops free underneath Louis’ fingers. He watches as Louis’ tongue darts out, swiping at his bottom lip, leaving it glistening and slick. Soon, Harry will give in to the desire coiled tight in his belly and kiss him, thorough and deep and slow.

First, he’ll get his answer.

Louis’ mouth twists, corner curling up. The realization that Harry’s not going to let this go crosses his face, even as he goes for the third button.

Two more, and he’ll be done. Harry’s always been a firm believer in equal nakedness for nakedness, and he has much less patience than Louis does. He grabs two handfuls of Louis’ shirt, pulling it up over his head as quickly as he can, which isn’t as quick as he wants it to be with Louis lying down. It gets there, though, and it appeases something deep inside Harry when it’s lying on the floor instead of on Louis’ body.

“I always tried to limit it to two,” Louis says, popping another button free as though Harry hadn’t just ripped his shirt off him. “I knew it wouldn’t be enough, but it wouldn’t be enough with three, either, or four.”

The thought of Louis writhing on his sheets, three fingers stuffed up his arse, wishing it was a part of Harry instead, desperate for his knot, floods Harry’s mouth with saliva. He swallows it down hard, putting his hand over Louis’, stilling his movement. “Did it work?”

Those silky eyelashes blink up at him again, so much more innocent than any other part of Louis. His fingers twitch underneath Harry’s as though he’s thinking about pulling them away and going for the last button regardless of what Harry thinks.

“Not really,” Louis says. The hand he’s not got on Harry’s chest curls around his hip, trying to urge him down properly, so far from subtle it would make Harry smile if it weren’t for the persistent ache in his cock. “Couple of times, maybe. Before I knew it I would end up with three, though, trying to get it to feel right even though I knew it wouldn’t.”

Of course it didn’t. Louis’ fingers are proportionate to the rest of him. There’s no way he could have satisfied that particular urge all by himself.

It’s a response that deserves a reward, regardless of how much of a ploy it is. Harry has to kiss Louis first – it’s something he dreams about, sometimes, what Louis’ mouth would taste like, what he would kiss like. It’s probably the fantasy Harry’s buried the deepest, and now that he’s about to get it the anticipation feels like it’s about to burst out of every one of his pores.

Harry opens his mouth to ask Louis, _can I kiss you_ on the tip of his tongue, only to be derailed by Louis surging forward, fast enough that their mouths should meet in a rather painful way. Instinct has Harry’s hands flying up to catch Louis by the shoulders, slowing him just enough that they don’t smash together. Then it’s like everything comes together exactly right – both of their heads tip in the right direction, and their mouths line up perfectly.

Louis’ lips part easily, tongue sliding against Harry’s, hot and slick, and Harry is barely even conscious of his body moving, getting on top of Louis, until a pillow gets in the way and he has to kick it away. They’re tangled together in Harry’s bed, so close Harry’s senses are almost overwhelmed by Louis’ scent. He tastes like he smells, mint and chocolate, and Harry wants to cover him in his come, until he smells like Harry too. Drench him in it.

The clothes they’re wearing are more than just inconvenient now. They’re a nuisance, damp fabric sticking to Harry’s skin where he’s sweating, a barrier between them, and he needs them to be gone. 

It still takes him a few more minutes to pull away from Louis’ mouth. Louis’ nails digging into his back don’t help any, making it even harder to tear himself away from that particular piece of heaven. Harry manages it eventually, and it turns out the visual is just as good as the feeling.

Louis’ hair is still sleep tousled, cheeks pink. He looks thoroughly debauched, and that’s just from a bit of kissing. It’s a hard sight to look away from. Harry only manages because getting them naked is currently a higher priority.

“Get your pants off,” Harry orders. His voice comes out deeper than he’s ever heard it, and he doesn’t miss the way Louis’ tongue swipes across his bottom lip, the way his throat works as he swallows.

Forcing his gaze away, Harry strips his own shirt off over his head. It lands somewhere on the bed behind him, and he’s probably going to get tangled up in it later, but right now that doesn’t matter. He hasn’t been this turned on in a very long time, and he’s aching to do something about it.

The only way to do anything about it properly is to get them both naked, though. That’s Harry’s objective right now. He catches glimpses of Louis taking his pants off out of the corner of his eye, movements so fluid even while he’s mostly horizontal that Harry would probably pay to see him take his clothes off. It would be incredibly easy to get distracted by him.

“Briefs, too,” Harry says, rolling away so he can fight his way out of his sleep pants. Next time he’ll strip Louis down himself, really take his time with it, baring him inch by inch and drinking him in. Right now, Harry’s knot has already started to form at the base of his cock, a pressing demand. 

He doesn’t let himself look back at Louis until he’s completely naked. Ignoring the rustling and the shifting of the mattress as Louis stripped down hadn’t been easy, but it’s worth it. Harry’s still on his knees, on the side of the bed he had been sleeping on. Louis is lying down, and if Harry had any ideas about Louis being the type of person to be a bit shy about getting naked with someone for the first time, they fly completely out the window when he allows himself to really look.

Louis is lounging on the bed. His skin is only a bit lighter where it’s been protected from the sun, like his summer tan hasn’t faded, even in December. With his knee crooked up just slightly, Harry’s eyes can’t help but sweep down the lines of his body, following the natural curve of his hips to where his cock aches to be buried.

“You might actually kill me,” Harry says out loud, the words falling out of his mouth. He barely even realizes he’s said them until he catches the quirk of Louis’ smile on his sweep back up.

“Who says that’s not what I’m aiming for?”

So fucking mouthy. Harry’s cock is into it.

“If you killed me, you’d have to find another alpha to do your bidding,” Harry points out. He settles onto his side, facing Louis, and lets his hand drift up Louis’ arm, barely touching, exploring his body slowly. There’s a part of him that almost wants to pull the sheet up to Louis’ waist, cover him up a bit, just so he can concentrate on the rest of him.

Actually, it’s something he might end up having to do anyway. The air is starting to feel colder now, sending goosebumps up Harry’s spine. He can see the echo of them on Louis’ arm, fine hairs standing up, nipples pebbled tight and pink on his chest. It doesn’t seem to be affecting his cock, so fucking pretty where it’s laying hard against his belly, practically begging for attention.

“That’s true,” Louis says thoughtfully. He’s lying still, letting Harry continue this quiet exploration of his body, undemanding. It’s such a change from his regular attitude that Harry almost can’t believe this is the same person. The same demanding, relentlessly mouthy omega who’s always smelled a bit too sweet for his own good. “I’d have to train up another one, I suppose.”

Harry’s barely paying attention to the words. He hasn’t had sex in a while, and that little fact is making itself known rather insistently. A soft, pretty little omega laid bare in his bed is sure to make this quick, there’s no doubt about it. As much as he’d like to put his mouth all over Louis’ body, taste every inch of him, he just doesn’t think that’s going to happen. Not this time, at least.

“Turn over,” he says, deciding what exactly he wants to do in a split second. When it comes to fast orgasms, there’s really only one way to do it efficiently.

He doesn’t give Louis a chance to argue, or to ask _why_. Slides his hands under Louis’ back and urges him over, until he’s propped up on his hands and knees. Harry doesn’t let himself look at the picture it makes, lining himself up against Louis’ back, lacing the fingers of their right hands together and using the grip to stretch Louis out until his face is down in the pillow. The only thing keeping him upright is Harry’s other hand pressed up against his belly, preventing him from going all the way down, omega all but presented for him.

“That’s how you like it, huh?” Louis says, head turned to the side so he’s not being suffocated by the pillow. “Like to see an omega arse up for you, a wet hole for you to use however you want?”

He curls his fingers into Harry’s tighter. In this position, he can’t use his eyes against Harry quite as effectively, which somehow makes everything easier and harder at the same time.

“Might be, if I was going to use your hole,” Harry says. He can’t keep his voice from being a low, fond murmur of a thing. “You’re all wet for me, it’d be real easy to just sink all the way into you, wouldn’t it? Open up all sweet and shy like you wouldn’t beg me for it if I took too long.”

The muscles in Louis’ back shift as he tries to arch up into Harry’s body. Harry’s the one with all the leverage here, though, so he doesn’t get very far. “You calling me a slut?”

“No,” Harry says, pressing his mouth to the back of Louis’ neck, speaking the words into his skin just for the way it makes Louis shiver, fingers flexing against Harry’s. “Think I’d have to try real hard to get you to beg me for it. Don’t doubt I could make you, though.”

He has to twist kind of ridiculously to get at Louis’ mouth good enough to kiss him, but it’s not like Louis can call him on it when his mouth is occupied by Harry’s tongue. The inside of Louis’ mouth tastes like mint tea, bittersweet, and it won’t take Harry long to get obsessed with it, he knows.

Louis is the one who breaks the kiss, ducking his head back into the pillow, turning his face away. A hot spike of urgency flashes through Harry’s body, telling him to take Louis’ mouth back, for as long as he wants. Harry suppresses it. 

“What are you going to do, then?” Louis asks. The soft twist of his mouth is beckoning. “If you’re not going to put your cock in me.”

Just like that, Harry is reminded of exactly how hard he is. It’s easy to get lost in Louis’ mouth, even when he’s so turned on he can barely think straight. And if he wants to come, chances are Louis does, too.

“What I’m going to do,” Harry repeats. He can’t help himself anymore, grips Louis’ throat loosely, uses his thumb and forefinger to turn Louis’ head back towards him. The flicker of Louis’ pulse beats underneath his palm, fast and frenetic. He doesn’t smell scared – just undeniably, hopelessly aroused. Even leans into it a little, testing Harry’s grip.

Harry’s cock throbs all the more. He finally gives into his body’s demands, hauling Louis’ hips higher, pushing his cock between Louis’ thighs smoothly. It’s a move he’s gotten good at over the years, even without the use of his hands, and automatically, Louis’ thighs clench around him, holding him there.

Jesus fucking – for a second, Harry can’t speak. It takes every inch of his willpower to stop himself from thrusting into it, setting a rhythm and really committing to it. They’re pressed together for real now, every inch that counts.

“This,” Harry says. Louis’ fingers are squeezed around his so tight they’re probably both losing circulation, but he doesn’t move, pliant underneath Harry’s weight in a way that says he knows it’s exactly what Harry wants from him. “This is what I’m going to do, baby. You’re going to keep your thighs together nice and tight for me until I say you can let go. Do you think you can do that for me, sweetheart?”

It’s not really a question. Harry’s going to help him do it if he can’t. Either way, it’s going to happen.

“Yes,” Louis says, squeezing his thighs together tighter. Harry’s cock throbs, more insistent. “I can, Harry – ”

Whatever he was going to say next gets strangled on a sharp inhale when Harry starts to move, hips finding that rhythm he was thinking about earlier easily. It’s an effortless grind, made easy because Louis is so wet he’s leaking down the insides of his thighs. The scent is rich, heady, making Harry’s head spin, and before he knows it he’s sped up, teeth aching to be buried in the back of Louis’ neck, marking him, claiming him.

“Should’ve been doing this to you weeks ago,” Harry says. He presses his forehead against the back of Louis’ head, watching the way his cock slides between Louis’ thighs. The angle means he can only catch the occasional glimpse of it, wet shine from Louis’ slick all over the two inches that make an appearance when he pulls back on longer thrusts. “Keep you underneath me as much as I can from now on, every time you decide to mouth off I’ll just do this to you, get you all sweet and quiet for a few minutes. You want that, baby?”

“Please,” Louis whispers. It barely sounds like an answer to Harry’s question, so low and hungry. His cheeks are flushed, pink verging on red, body warm and wet under Harry’s, keeping his thighs together tight because Harry told him to.

His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks as he squirms, keeping Harry’s cock locked between his thighs. For a second, it seems like he’s trying to go somewhere. Harry almost drags him back down, unwilling to let go of this perfect place he’s carved out for himself.

Louis’ not trying to go anywhere. He’s shifting so his weight is centered on his right side, pulling their joined hands down and sucking two of Harry’s fingers into his mouth. His tongue is soft and wet against Harry’s fingertips, cheeks hollowing as he takes them in deeper. Like he needs something filling his mouth if he can’t have Harry’s knot filling his arse.

He’s a small, perfect thing under Harry, letting Harry use him like this. Harry’s going to come, cock knotted up and fat with it. He takes his hand from Louis’ belly, squeezing at the base of cock, forming a makeshift hole for his knot. Louis’ thighs tremble, breathing fast around Harry’s fingers, doing such a good job, struggling to keep them up without Harry’s hand to support him.

“You’re so good,” Harry says, because he has to. Can’t keep the words from spilling out of his mouth. Lets go of his knot so he can push Louis down against the mattress, so close behind that his cock doesn’t even slip out of its place. “So good for me, baby, just like this.”

Louis slurs something around Harry’s fingers, undecipherable. He sounds happy. Smells happy. Harry’s chest feels hot with something other than arousal. He squeezes his fingers back around his knot, rutting between Louis’ thighs, motions small and deliberate, and starts to come.

Like this, it’s so easy to get Louis off too, both of them moving against each other, Louis’ cock rubbing against the sheets. Harry doesn’t see it when it happens, face pressed against Louis’ back, almost overwhelmed by the intensity of his own orgasm, even as he keeps coming, making Louis’ thighs even wetter, come getting everywhere, all over him, _drenching_ him.

Feels it when Louis bites down on his fingers, though, sharp little teeth digging into Harry’s skin, soft, wonderful noises coming out of him, almost like tears. Like Harry’s made him come so good he might almost be crying from it.

It’s Harry’s name, what Louis is saying. It takes Harry a couple minutes to figure it out, after the press of Louis’ teeth gentles. He’s still coming, an endless wave of loose, languid pleasure skittling through his body, and he thinks vaguely that he’s a little sorry that he has a thing about knotting people he’s not in a relationship with. If Louis feels this good on the outside, he’d probably feel nothing short of incredible on the inside.

Harry’s orgasm takes several minutes to ebb. If they were tied, it’d be longer. His fingers slip out of Louis’ mouth, curl at his throat instead. There’s an instinct still raging at Harry’s core, buried deep inside of him, that doesn’t want him to let go quite yet, even after he’s finished coming. Louis isn’t asleep, not quite, but he’s soft and quiet underneath Harry, more pliable than ever. Doesn’t seem to mind that he’s covered in come.

“You’re amazing,” Harry says softly, stroking his thumb down the line of Louis’ throat. Doesn’t even know whether Louis hears it or not. He fishes for one of the blankets, pulling it around them haphazardly. His cock is still buried between Louis’ thighs, softening slowly. He’s not ready to move yet. Just a few more minutes of this. Just a few.

“Amazing,” he repeats, and kisses Louis until they both fall asleep.

 

 

“You can, if you want,” Louis gasps, fingers curling in Harry’s hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. It feels good enough to be distracting, so Harry doesn’t answer, busy mouthing his way down Louis’ throat. They’re already naked, tangled up together in Harry’s bed, sheets kicked off.

There’s a spot at Louis’ collarbone that’s just begging to be bitten. Harry keeps getting drawn back to it, unable to stray away from it for too long. Keeping his teeth in check is hard, takes almost as much of Harry’s focus as sucking deep marks into Louis’ skin does. 

“Please,” Louis says, sharp, whining. Harry’s cock throbs in response, pressing between Louis’ thighs, so close to where it wants to be. “You can put it in.”

“I can,” Harry murmurs back, inching his way lower, leaving a wet trail in his wake. “You’d let me.”

He’s going to put his mouth on Louis’ nipples, he thinks. He’s got no real reason to think that Louis’ nipples are sensitive, but he thinks it anyway, and he’s going to find out. See what kind of noises Louis makes when he licks as opposed to when he sucks. What he does when Harry bites a little, if he likes it or not. How much he likes it.

“C’mon, Harry,” Louis says, tugging at Harry’s hair again. “Please. I want you to.”

It’s obvious he’s not going to let it go. Harry ducks his head further, ignoring the pinch at his scalp as Louis doesn’t let go, settles his mouth just above Louis’ left nipple. Not doing anything, not just yet.

“I don’t knot people I’m not serious about,” Harry says, running his hand down Louis’ side, settling on his hip and squeezing. Breathes against Louis’ skin for a second, thinks about going for it and decides not to, shuffling his way down the bed until he’s between Louis’ legs properly, sucking a mark into the inside of his thigh instead. It forces a noise out of Louis, one that’s low and whimpery, and Harry can smell that it makes Louis wetter. Something to hang onto for later.

He doesn’t give Louis a chance to come back from it, licking a fat, wet stripe up the seam of Louis’ balls, full and heavy with his arousal. This is everything Harry likes most about sex – vibrant, tasty omega falling apart underneath him, reacting to everything Harry is doing. Continues licking his way up Louis’ cock, until he reaches the head, sucking just the tip into his mouth.

Above him, Louis’ slurring something, thighs tense around Harry’s shoulders, belly quivering. Harry flicks his eyes up, sees that he can’t understand the words Louis is trying to force out because he’s saying them around two knuckles stuffed into his mouth. He makes a pretty picture, obscene and flushed pink in places, making a mess of Harry’s sheets.

In his admiration of Louis’ form, Louis’ cock slips out of his mouth, head spit slick and leaking, and that gives Louis enough composure to continue, “So don’t put the knot in, then.”

Harry goes to duck back in, lave his tongue over the head of Louis’ cock the way it deserves to be loved, but Louis pulls his hair again, hard this time. “It’s not quite that easy.”

Louis’ eyes flash with something challenging. As messy as he is right now, littered with bite marks and wet with his own slick, he shouldn’t look like a force to be reckoned with. He should look like every other omega Harry’s ever bedded.

“So you’re telling me that you haven’t fucked any of the other omegas you’ve had casual flings with?”

If he were to be honest, Harry would admit that he doesn’t usually shy away from fucking omegas. He doesn’t knot them, that’s true, but there’s a long way between fucking and knotting.

If he was being honest, Harry would admit that he doesn’t trust himself enough to be able to fuck Louis without knotting him. He’s definitely not being honest right now.

“Are you telling me that all those omega stereotypes about not being able to get off without something inside of you are true?” Harry shoots back, heat crackling through his veins, muscles tense.

Louis yanks at his hair again, grip punishing. “You’re deflecting,” he says. “Don’t you want to put your cock inside me, feel me where I’m the warmest, the _wettest_ , just made for a big fat alpha cock like yours, hold me down and make – ”

Harry shuts him up with a hand over his mouth. Under his palm, Louis’ still talking, mouthing off, such a brat even now. Especially now, maybe.

There’s only one way Harry can think of to shut him up. He leans up, ignoring the ache in his scalp as Louis still doesn’t let go, yanking open the top drawer of his nightstand and pulling out the handcuffs. He dangles them in front of Louis’ face and says, clear and firm, “Hands.”

Instantly, Louis offers them up, letting go of Harry’s hair, the insides of his wrists turned up. There’s no hesitation at all, trust in every movement. Harry’s cock reminds him of exactly how impatient it is, throb gone insistent now.

“Do you know what I’m going to do to you if I put these on you?” Harry asks. The blue of Louis’ eyes is sharp, heartbreaking. “First thing I’m gonna do is plug up that sweet little mouth of yours with a gag. Greedy little omegas like you beg for things they’re not ready for, and I’m inclined to give them to you if you keep pushing. Then I’m gonna take my time with you, put my mouth wherever I feel like, until you’re so wet you’re dripping with it.”

Harry pauses to swallow, mouth filled up with his own saliva at the images flashing through his head. “You’re going to want to beg,” he says. “And you’re not going to be able to. You’re going to want to beg me to fuck you, to make you full, but you’re not going to be able to, and then, when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, like you’re going to combust, do you know what I’m going to do next?”

Slowly, Louis shakes his head, lips parted, quiet.

“I’m still not going to fuck you,” Harry says. “I’m going to make you come, and I’m going to come all over you, but I’m not going to fuck you.”

He lets the words hang in the air between them for a few long seconds, tension climbing higher as the time ticks by.

Finally, he finishes. “Or you can say no, get up and go home, and we’ll pretend like none of this ever happened. You say yes and you want me to stop at any time, you just have to kick me three times in a row.”

The words have barely finished leaving his mouth before Louis is saying, urgent, “Yes, yes, please,” and trying get at Harry’s mouth, kiss him again.

Harry lets the kiss happen. He meant every word he said, and he has to take Louis at his.

He doesn’t let it go on for too long, though. As good as kissing Louis is, right now Harry doesn’t have the patience to make a long thing out of it. Not when he knows what they could be doing instead. 

“Will this teach you how to stay still, do you think?” Harry asks, a mere millimeter away from Louis’ mouth. He doesn’t wait for an answer, gripping Louis’ wrists and guiding them up over his head. The handcuffs are still dangling from two of his fingers, making it so easy to secure them around Louis’ wrists and to the bedframe. 

“I’ve never been a very fast learner,” Louis says. Likely, he’s aiming for witty, off-hand, even. It mostly comes out as a needy exhale.

Harry stops for a moment, sits back to admire the picture Louis makes. His wrists turn in the handcuffs, testing, silver gleaming against his skin. Harry doesn’t use them often, but he thinks they’ve never looked better.

As Harry’s watching, Louis’ wrists twist a few more times, almost obsessively, fingers lacing together above his head. He’s stretched out like this, on display, and yeah, Harry’s definitely going to be using them more often.

“You already regret it, huh, baby,” Harry murmurs, nudging Louis’ thighs further apart, until their hips can rock together in a slow, easy grind. “Didn’t think it would be so distracting, did you?”

It’s an honest question. Harry isn’t going to go any further until Louis answers it, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching for the scarf that had been lying underneath the handcuffs.

Louis sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. It’s a small movement, and it’s still so obscene Harry’s cock throbs, demanding more attention than the torturously slow rock against Louis’. “You talk a big game, but you’re so full of shit.”

It’s not an explicit yes. Coming out of Louis’ mouth, it’s obviously meant to be one, though.

Harry’s not going to let him off the hook that easily. “Want me to take them off, then?” He reaches into the drawer for the key, locating it easily and pulling it out. They watch each other for any sign of weakness as Harry reaches up to the cuffs with the key.

Louis breaks first. “No,” he says. He can’t grab Harry’s hand, so he makes due with curling his fingers down into his own fists. “There’s no need for that.”

Of course there’s not. Harry’s cock throbs again, reminding him exactly how lucky he is to be in this position right now, and that he made a promise he needs to keep. He puts the key down on the table, far enough away that there’s no risk of it getting knocked off, and grabs the scarf. He’s always made good on his promises.

“You’re going to be good for me, baby, aren’t you,” he says as he folds the scarf smaller, every movement intentionally slow, letting Louis see it. There’s enough time for Louis to answer, but he doesn’t, swallowing instead, gaze flicking between the scarf and Harry’s face.

That’s fine. Harry slides the scarf between Louis’ lips, following its path with his thumb. Pulls it out of Louis’ mouth, tugging his lips farther apart in the process, before he ties a knot at the back of Louis’ head, careful to avoid getting his hair caught in it. He tests the knot, tugging at it gently. His attention is focused on it, and when he looks back to check on Louis’ face, gauge how he’s doing, Louis’ pupils are blown wide, swallowing up some of the blue.

“Alright, sweetheart?” Harry checks. He’s pretty sure it’s a good reaction. _Pretty sure_ isn’t sure, though, and he waits for Louis’ jerky, enthusiastic nod before he continues.

This time, he doesn’t stop to drink in the sight. If he does that he’s only going to be more tempted to give in and put his cock in the place it thinks it deserves to be, and the last thing he needs is more temptation. He’s already hit his threshold.

He ducks back down, wasting no time getting his mouth back on Louis’ cock. More of it this time, sucking right away. Louis’ back arches up off the bed, and the only reason he doesn’t completely impale Harry is because Harry’s got his forearms locked on Louis’ thighs, holding him down.

Louis bites out a noise around his gag, muffled, leg spasming in Harry’s grip. The smell of his slick gets stronger, hotter. Enticing. Next time, Harry will pay more attention to it.

Now, he pulls off of Louis’ cock to lave his tongue down the seam of his balls instead, tonguing small circles against his skin. The taste of mint bursts across his tongue where Louis’ slick has dripped down, sharp, and Louis’ noises go broken and desperate above him. Harry doesn’t have to have intimate knowledge of Louis’ body to know that he’s about to come.

If this was a different time, Harry might swallow him back down, let him come in his mouth, drain him dry. Right now, he’s longing to see it instead. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he gets his hand around Louis’ cock, their faces level again. There’s a wet shine in Louis’ eyes but no tears on his cheeks, and fuck if he isn’t the prettiest thing Harry’s ever seen.

“You’re fucking perfect,” Harry says, aware of how rough his voice is. He strokes Louis’ cock with a sure, tight grip, listening to the cadence of Louis’ breathing, fast and pleading, the clench of his thighs against Harry’s hips, and can’t stop thinking about what Louis will look like covered in his come.

He has a hand free. Puts it to use between Louis’ legs, sliding down, fingers getting wet, until he can stroke two of them in between Louis’ cheeks, pressing gently against his hole.

That’s what it takes for Louis to come. His eyes squeeze closed, lips trying to form words despite the gag, but no noise comes out of him for a long, quiet moment. He just comes, gripping Harry with his thighs, fingers curling down slowly into his fists above his head.

Prettiest goddamn thing Harry’s ever seen.

“Yeah, baby, just like that,” Harry says. He doesn’t let go of Louis’ cock until he’s finished coming, twitching weakly in his grip, and then immediately grabs his own. His knot is full, desperate for release, and it doesn’t take more than getting his fingers firmly around it before he’s coming as well, thick white stripes covering Louis’ chest, his neck, chin. A bit on his face.

It doesn’t last as long as it would if he were knotted inside someone. It never does when it’s like this. It’s still bone-deep satisfaction, something he feels in his core. Like fulfilling something.

The first thing he does, once he’s finally finished coming, is untie the knot at the back of Louis’ head, tug the scarf free of his mouth. Then he kisses Louis again, letting go of the scarf so he can get both hands underneath Louis’ head, cradling him. Licks his way into Louis’ mouth, no resistance. Kisses him wet and deep, thinks _you did so good, baby_. Might be murmuring it between kisses.

In a second, he’ll unlock the handcuffs, massage Louis’ arms and hands to help with the pins and needles. Kiss every single one of his fingers. In a second. Just one more kiss, first.

 

 

“Have you seen this?” Louis asks, putting a newspaper down in front of Harry as though he hadn’t just broken into his house and strolled into his kitchen casually.

The only thing left from Harry’s hangover is a headache, splitting enough that it’s probably more of a migraine. It’s why he grabs Louis’ wrist instead of letting him step away, out of Harry’s space. The headache has messed up his instincts, that’s all it is. It’s the only reason he tugs Louis closer instead of letting him get away.

“What is it,” Harry asks, slow, gravelly. He pushes himself up from his stool, gets Louis trapped between him and the counter. He doesn’t really care about what the newspaper says, not when Louis’ jumper is a size or two too big for him, sliding down one shoulder, exposing skin Harry wouldn’t have any problems getting his mouth on.

Louis clears his throat, pushing at Harry’s shoulders until he has enough space to wiggle around, snapping the newspaper open and laying it out on the counter. Harry crowds right back up against him, fitting all the sweet curves of Louis’ arse against his own hips. He hears the catch in Louis’ breath as Harry fits them together, but Louis doesn’t let it stop him, starting to read.

“At last night’s Debutant Ball, there was no shortage of drama. Socialites and cocktails are often a recipe for disaster, and add in the hormones of eligible Alphas sniffing around eligible Omegas, there’s no shortage of things to fill this column.”

“Don’t you think we could find something better to do with our time than read the Sunday gossip column?” Harry interrupts, pressing his hand flat against Louis’ stomach and pulling him back, so there’s no space between them. “Especially when the writer is bad enough to use the word shortage twice in as many sentences.”

Louis elbows him weakly, but he doesn’t make any moves to get away. “Most interesting, however,” he continues, snapping the newspaper straight, “was one of London’s most reclusive bachelors, Harry Styles, and his interactions with an unknown Omega.”

If he’s not going to give Harry his undivided attention willingly, Harry’s just going to have to find a way to make him. He tucks two fingers into the neck of Louis’ jumper, pulling it farther down, making space to lay his mouth on Louis’ bare skin. 

There’s the slightest hint of a tremble in Louis’ voice as he keeps reading, but he doesn’t let it stop him. “At first glance, it seemed as though the Omega was spurring Styles’ advances, making a hasty escape each time the Alpha would corner him. However, as the night wore on, it become apparent that the two were already familiar with each other, enough so the Omega didn’t flinch at the intimate hand Styles placed on his back or his hip.”

“They make me sound like some sort of scoundrel,” Harry murmurs. The thought of pushing Louis down until his chest is flush against the countertop has been flitting through his head ever since Louis started reading, and it’s getting more appealing by the second. For now, he entertains himself with turning the soft press of his mouth against Louis’ shoulder into something deeper, something wetter.

“Every eye in the room was glued to the pair when Styles finally convinced the Omega to dance, a few inches too close to be considered proper, and much too close for people who had only met that night. So the question remains, who is this mystery Omega, and how long has Harry Styles been courting him?”

Louis is finished reading, which Harry takes as a sign to give into that urge and push him down flat against the countertop. The newspaper crinkles underneath him, but Harry’s long since stopped caring about that. He pushes Louis’ shirt up his back, exposing his skin. The headache he’s been fighting all morning has faded to almost nothing.

“If I was courting you, you probably wouldn’t be bent over my counter right now,” Harry says. He lets go of Louis’ back in favour of hooking his thumbs into the waistband of Louis’ trousers, flirting with tugging them down.

“You are a scoundrel, though,” Louis says breathlessly. He doesn’t try to push up, which only adds to the thrum of arousal pulsing through Harry’s veins. “Couldn’t even wait to get me home, took me in a dark coatroom like I’m some sort of slag.”

Harry can’t be blamed for that. The article is wrong about most things, but it did get a couple things right, one of which is that he did spend the majority of the night trying to back Louis into corners, proprietary be damned. And he wouldn’t have been doing that if it hadn’t been for the trousers Louis had been wearing – sleek, well tailored, expensive black trousers held up by suspenders that made it impossible to look anywhere other than his arse.

By the time Louis had finally agreed to a dance, Harry is pretty sure that the entire place could smell how turned on he was, how frustrated. He’d only palmed Louis’ arse once during the song, quick enough that he could claim it was accidental, even if it was anything but. There was no way he could have even waited to get Louis into the car, much less all the way home.

“Are you trying to tell me that there was something you wanted me to do differently?” Harry asks, pushing Louis’ trousers down slow, baring him an inch at a time. He can’t tear his eyes away from the view he’s exposing, the way goosebumps have prickled up along Louis’ spine even though it’s far from the first time Harry has looked at him like this. “Treat you like a king, maybe, woo you with champagne and caviar?”

He hasn’t even really done anything yet, but Louis’ voice still comes out raspy and needy when he answers. “Might be nice, getting real spoiled like that.”

“Right,” Harry says. Louis’ trousers pool at his feet, but he doesn’t move to step out of them, and Harry doesn’t tell him to. “What do you have to say about the fact that the second that door closed behind us, you had your hand down my pants?”

He knows the question is going to make Louis try to stand up and preemptively presses his down, keeping him trapped where he is. Louis already smelled good when he walked in, and now he smells like heaven, now that Harry’s close enough to smell how wet he is. How ready.

Louis came here for exactly this reason. Knew what he wanted and where he needed to go to get it. That Harry’s the only one who can give it to him the way he needs it.

“Well,” Louis says, voice a little muffled by his arm, “I’m pretty sure we would have been arrested otherwise, so you can thank me anytime you want.”

“Thank you,” Harry repeats thoughtfully. Louis’ bare arse is right in front of him, inviting all sorts of scandalous behaviour. Harry could write odes to this arse, and given enough time and alcohol, he might actually find himself doing that.

He squeezes it instead, filling both hands with as much as he can hold, pressure firm. Louis makes an aborted sound, pushing back into it, but he doesn’t beg for it. Not yet.

“How would you have me thank you, then?” Harry asks, squeezing again, lifting a bit this time, pushing Louis up onto his toes. He doesn’t let him come back down, letting him feel the strain in his calf muscles as he keeps himself there, using the edge of the countertop for balance. “Do you think I should get you off?”

“That would be a start,” Louis says, surprisingly even for someone who’s having to work just to keep himself from face planting into the counter.

“Just a start?” Harry asks, amusement colouring his tone. He’s still got both hands full of the most glorious arse he’s ever seen. The last thing he’s going to do is let that opportunity go to waste.

In between his cheeks, Louis is wet. He lets out a shuddering breath as Harry drags his thumb down between them, skirting carefully around his hole. His body wasn’t tense before, but he goes undeniably loose and languid with the way Harry’s touching him now, and he smells – 

God, the way he smells. There’s a reason they hadn’t made it home before having sex last night, and most of it has to do with how Louis smells. That, and the amount of alcohol Harry had been drinking had lowered his already terrible willpower.

“Champagne _would_ be a nice touch,” Louis says, drawing Harry out of his booze soaked memories and back into the moment.

Harry doesn’t disagree. He drags his thumb back up the same path, still skirting his hole, leaning forward until his chest is pressed up against Louis’ back, and says into his ear, “Stay here.”

He pulls back before Louis can question it, because Louis will always question something before he decides to do it. There’s a bottle of champagne sitting in his pantry. It’s not his go-to drink, and it’s not cold, but that hardly matters right now. Harry grabs it, turning back around to face the island. The hangover he’d been nursing all morning is gone.

Louis has kicked his trousers away so they’re not tangled at his feet anymore, leaving him in only a shirt that hangs loosely from his body, so loosely it might actually be one of Harry’s. Harry has to stop for a second, breath caught in his throat at the sight, swallowing hard around the lump in his throat. For a second – just for a second – it feels like too much, an omega this gorgeous bare arsed in the middle of Harry’s kitchen, light streaming over him in a way that should be illegal, smelling like Harry’s, looking like Harry’s.

“Harry,” Louis says, soft, questioning. He doesn’t look back as he says, just sways a little on the balls of his feet, enticing. There’s something inherently trusting about the word, the movement, as though he doesn’t quite know what the hold up is but he knows that saying Harry’s name like that will get him moving.

It does get Harry moving, even if he has to swallow hard a couple more times to get the feeling to fade. Words are still stuck in his throat, so he doesn’t say anything as he uncorks the bottle, setting it down beside Louis’ arm just long enough to ease the shirt up off of him, dropping it onto the floor carelessly. 

“Harry,” Louis says again, softer. It’s not a question but somehow it still is. Harry swallows again, eyes fixed on the bare expanse of Louis’ back, every inch of him on display for Harry. Harry touches him, lays his palm flat on Louis’ back, just for a second.

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs, voice gone rough with the feelings welling up inside of him. He doesn’t wait for Louis to answer, upending the entire bottle of champagne on Louis’ back. 

Louis gasps, even though he must have been expecting it, back tensing under the onslaught. Liquid streams down his sides, his arse, his thighs, pooling in the small of his back. It turns his skin even more golden, somehow, almost glittering in the light.

It’s making a mess on the floor beneath his feet. Harry steps into it, uncaring, dragging his tongue across the pool on Louis’ back. Alcohol flavours his tongue, beneath that the taste of Louis’ skin. The combination is the sweetest thing Harry’s ever tasted, and he laps up every last drop of that pool before moving on, tonguing his way down Louis’ spine. Louis is making sounds that are even sweeter than the taste of his skin, pliant underneath Harry’s hands. If he wanted to, Harry could get the handcuffs and make Louis wear them while he finishes licking every drop of the champagne off his skin, and all Louis would do is ask for more.

Under his hands, Louis’ thighs tremble. Harry braces him against the island better, trailing his tongue down further, over the tight curve of his arse, taking special care to suck all the liquid off that one freckle that sits high on his left cheek. Louis is saying something, whispering it to himself, some kind of mantra that sounds vaguely like it might include the words _please_ and _Harry_ , but it doesn’t sound like he’s saying it for Harry’s benefit.

Strangely, it’s probably the thing that makes Harry’s cock the hardest. There’s something so unconsciously pleasing about it, that Louis can let go of all his inhibitions, trust that Harry will take care of him, give him everything he needs.

Before he even knows it, Harry’s on his knees in the middle of the mess, using both hands to spread Louis’ cheeks apart. The champagne has started to go tacky against Louis’ skin, and Harry’s all too aware of the stickiness against his knees, but none of that matters when Louis is right here in front of him and practically begging to come.

“What a pretty little thing you are,” Harry sighs, eyes fixed on Louis’ hole, exposed to him. “Never going to be able to keep my hands off you as much as I should.”

It comes out a little too honestly. Louis whispers something else into his arm, too muffled to make out. That doesn’t stop it from sounding longing, even to Harry’s ears. Harry leans in, licks a wet stripe up between Louis’ cheeks, where he’s always run the hottest. Here, the taste of champagne is faint, giving way to the taste of Louis’ skin, his slick.

He’s wet enough that it would only take the barest hint of pressure to convince his hole to give way to Harry’s cock, let him in and feel for himself exactly what Louis is like on the inside. Harry’s the one who can’t stop himself from making a low noise at the thought, rubbing his tongue firmly over Louis’ hole, trying to convince him to open up.

“Please,” Louis says, the first word that’s been understandable in a few minutes. Harry has to get his hand inside his sleep pants and palm at his cock at the sound of it, sweet and needy and omega in a way that almost hurts. He doesn’t know what Louis is asking for, exactly, only that he’s asking for something and there’s no way Harry isn’t going to give it to him. He makes an educated guess, gives up his grip on his own cock to take Louis’ in hand instead, starts stroking him at a faster pace than his tongue is going.

“Oh,” Louis says, soft, dreamy. His muscles relax, melting him into the island in a way that would probably be beautiful to look at. His scent goes molten, the way it does when he’s about to come, an edge on peppermint Harry’s never smelled anywhere else. It’s always a dead giveaway, even if Harry’s attention had been split at the time.

Harry edges his thumb against Louis’ hole, sinking inside so easily his breath catches in his throat for a second. He barely has time to breathe again before Louis is coming, soft, helpless noises that sound like heaven above him. He licks him through it, crooking his thumb inside Louis’ arse, all soft wet heat around him, and for several long, slow minutes, all he can think about is what it would feel like around his cock.

He could, is the thing. Even right now, as Louis is starting to make noises that border on discomfort, he knows that if he wanted to, if he even hinted at it, Louis would beg for Harry’s knot just as sweet as he sounds when he’s coming. Would take Harry all the way inside, complaining the entire way about being _sore_ , but would clutch at him so tight Harry wouldn’t be able to back away at all. Would probably demand slow, tender kisses, a sweet, gentle fuck face-to-face, wouldn’t let Harry get away with doing anything short of spoiling him. He’d be everything Harry has never even looked for in an omega. That, and a thousand things more.

Harry gets his hands free and stands up, skin on his knees pulling uncomfortably as he does, trying to remind him of the mess he’s going to have to clean up later. He barely spares it a passing thought, hands as gentle as he can convince them to be as eases Louis up off the counter, turning him around. He can’t resist going in for another kiss, despite his cock’s conviction that he needs to do something about the situation on hand.

It’s no surprise that he gets distracted by the taste of Louis’ mouth. By the slow swipe of his tongue chasing after Harry’s, softened by his orgasm. Kissing him is like nothing Harry’s ever experienced before, so sensual it should be illegal. Of course Harry’s going to get distracted by that.

Louis isn’t quite as far gone as Harry thought he was. He proves it by slipping his hand inside Harry’s shorts, fingers curling loosely around Harry’s cock. He doesn’t start moving, just holding Harry’s cock, between him and the kitchen island, exactly where he is. Sharp, sharp edges on him, and he’s never smelled as soft as he does right now. Holding Harry’s cock, trying to be good, the best, and goddamn if he doesn’t succeed.

“Just like that, baby,” Harry says, half of his breath still caught in his lungs. He slides his hand inside his shorts, covering Louis’ fingers with his own, closing them more firmly around his cock before he starts guiding him, both of them pulling Harry off together. It only takes a few strokes to get Harry there too, cock pulsing wet, drenching his shorts. He can’t stop kissing Louis, unwilling to take his mouth away, fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of Louis’ neck. The kitchen smells like come, like them entwined together, and Harry is loathe to leave it. So he doesn’t, just keeps kissing Louis until his back begs for mercy. 

He has to mostly carry Louis up into the bathroom so they can get cleaned off. Louis keeps a hold of his wrist the entire way, won’t let go, and Harry’s fine with that.

Absolutely fine with it.

 

 

Having dinner with his parents is always a much bigger ordeal than it needs to be. There’s always at least three courses, followed by an after dinner drink, even if it’s only the three of them. When there are actual guests at the table, the night can drag on forever.

That’s not to say that Harry doesn’t enjoy having dinner with his parents. He does, of course. He would probably just enjoy it more if they didn’t make such a production of it, as though he doesn’t make a point to be there every Sunday.

Today, the table is filled with people Harry doesn’t know. At least, he doesn’t think he knows them. A face or two might look familiar, but only in a vague way. He definitely doesn’t remember any of their names, despite only having been introduced an hour ago.

In his defense, his parents throw these dinner parties all the time and always seem to forget to warn him about them in advance. After the first time he showed up in clothes that were far from his Sunday best only to find out there were ten strangers judging him, he’s taken to ensuring he looks good for these dinners. Just in case.

Right now, it’s a habit he’s grateful for. Looking the part has always made him feel more at ease in these situations, especially when he’s getting grilled on his love life by a woman twice his age. Harry can’t tell whether she’s trying to suss him out for herself or for one of her children. Either way, it’s not the most comfortable conversation he’s ever been part of.

“You’re the property manager for all of your family’s tenants, is that right, Harry?” she asks, leaning towards him, elbow planted firmly on the table despite the icy stare his mother is sending her way.

Harry has to admire that, at least. She’s either oblivious to it or she just doesn’t care about societal niceties. Either way, it makes for a different experience than most of these dinner parties.

“That’s right,” Harry answers, fork hovering politely over his plate. He’d like to finish his roast beef but at this rate, he’ll have to wrap it up to take home with him.

Oh well. At least that way he’ll be able to get an extra plate for Louis. Lord knows he won’t hear the last of it otherwise.

“Is that all you do?” the woman asks, completely tactless. Harry kind of likes her. “I mean, it can’t take up that much time, can it? What do you do with your days?”

“Well, it can be time consuming, depending on the needs of the tenants,” Harry says, lowering his fork to the plate. “But no, I work in an investment firm.”

“An investment firm?”

“Yes, we’re fairly new, but we’ve been on a good streak lately,” Harry says. The woman’s face is still blank, so he launches into an explanation of what he does, trying to keep it as interesting as possible.

And short. He’s always found the shorter the better when it comes to talking about his work.

“And that makes good money?” the woman asks, once Harry’s explanation is finished. It’s a completely tactless question, one that makes Harry’s mother’s head swing in their direction.

Harry definitely likes this lady.

“I get by,” Harry assures her.

“I’m sure your spouse must enjoy the fruits of your labour,” the woman says, leaning a little closer, conspiring. 

Harry smiles at her, resisting the urge to scoot his chair away. He’s still not sure whether she’s asking all these questions for herself or for one of her children. “I’m single, actually.”

Lying about it would just be in poor taste. He still kind of wishes he had when the lady’s face lights up.

“Are you really?” she gushes. “Three of my children are single as well, you know. All very successful young people who just haven’t met their perfect match yet. Tell me, what kind of person are you drawn to?”

Well, at least that answers the question of who she’s trying to set him up with. Harry wracks his brain for an answer that doesn’t involve visibly recoiling, a way to get himself out of this situation without hurting her feelings or looking like an arsehole.

He’s saved from having to answer by his mother interjecting. “Oh, Mrs. Kent, what Harry meant to say is that he’s actually courting someone right now. A sweet young omega, in fact.”

Mrs. Kent, right. Harry has to get better at remembering people’s names.

“Oh,” Mrs. Kent says, disappointment visible on her face. “Is that right?”

“Oh, it is,” his mother says. All the other conversations at the table have fallen quiet, intent in listening in to this. Harry would be uncomfortable with it if it didn’t mean that he’s probably going to get left alone for at least six months. “Louis is the perfect match for Harry, actually. Outspoken and quick witted, extraordinarily kind. I couldn’t think of a better person for my son to spend the rest of his life with.”

A cold feeling trickles down Harry’s spine. He’s still wearing that stiff, uncomfortable smile as the conversation changes to heavier topics and dinner progresses. It’s not because this is the first time his mother has ever tried to get someone to stop setting him up with their children, although it is. It’s – his parents know Louis, of course. They were the ones who accepted his rental application, after all.

Harry hasn’t told them about the sex. Harry hasn’t really told them anything about Louis. Nothing of substance, anyway. If his parents had only met Louis a few times, they would hardly know anything about him. They wouldn’t know how loud he is, how sassy. How he fits with Harry. If he even fits with Harry.

Dinner progresses, and so does Harry’s sinking realization. They only way his mother could have known any of that is if she did something to know it. If she arranged it.

Harry’s quiet for the rest of the meal. His food remains untouched on his plate. Slowly, the guests filter out, and the staff begins to clear the table.

“Shall we retire to the parlour for a drink?” his mother asks, drawing Harry out of his thoughts. His father is engrossed in the daily paper, a typical after dinner sight.

Slowly, Harry shakes his head. One way or another, he has to know. “Mum,” he says, folding his hands together in his lap, underneath the table. “Did you – how do you know those things about Louis?”

His mother turns away, pretending to be busy with pouring herself another glass of wine, and that’s the exact moment Harry knows that the feeling in his gut was right.

“You told me, Harry,” she says, turning back around with her glass in hand. “What are you going to have? Scotch, brandy?”

“I didn’t tell you,” Harry says, gripping his fingers tighter. Betrayal burns in his chest, hot and hard. “I never told you about him because I knew you would make it into an entire _thing_ , so how did you know? What did you do?”

“Harry,” his mother says, tone faintly disapproving. His father doesn’t look up from his paper.

She did. She _arranged_ for Louis to be in his life.

“When,” Harry says, shoving his chair back and standing up. “ _When_ did you do it, mum? Was it right from the start?”

It had to be. It’s been almost a year, and in that entire time neither of them have been honest with him.

“Harry,” his mum says, setting her glass down on the table. “You know I love you. I just want you to be happy, you know that. I just spent a little bit of money to make sure that you’re taking care of yourself and that nothing has happened to you. I wouldn’t have to do this if you came to visit more often, you know.”

Anger wells up in Harry, so sudden and strong he feels nauseous with it. He shakes his head again, taking a step back. Louis _lied /i >kiss him_, let Harry put his hands and mouth all over him, he was lying.

“Was it from the start?” Harry repeats. He doesn’t want to know, but he has to. Has to know exactly how long Louis has lied to him for. How much.

“I love you,” his mum says, and that’s a yes.

“I can’t believe you,” Harry says. He turns around and walks out without another word.

 

 

“It’s true, isn’t it,” Harry says. All the anger he felt on the way over here has faded into a hollow, aching emptiness centered in the pit of his stomach. “They hired you.”

“It’s not what you think,” Louis says, holding his hands in front of him pleadingly. His eyes are wet, and he hasn’t backed away any since Harry barged into the room. Into his house.

For a second, Harry almost wishes that Louis was scared of him. Maybe that’d make things easier. Anything would make this easier.

“It’s not what I think,” Harry repeats, huffing out a dry laugh. “So my parents aren’t paying you to be my tenant because you’re a single omega and I’m a single alpha? As though that’s all it takes?”

“It’s not like that,” Louis insists. “You know that it’s not. Your parents love you, they just want you to be happy. They just wanted me to keep an eye out for you, that’s all.”

“Right. And if we just happened to fall in love along the way, well, that’s even better, right? Because I’m incapable of taking care of myself? Twenty-five years old and they’re already worried about me getting too old to attract a decent omega?”

Louis jerks back like Harry had slapped him, face shuttering closed, almost expressionless. “You’re upset,” he says, calm, but his fingers are curling into his palms. “I get that, Harry. You better watch what you say, though, because out of the two of us, you’re not the one who’s getting _too old_.”

“Is that why you took the job, then? Because you’re an unmarried omega and you don’t want people to think you’re a spinster?” Harry demands. None of this is making any sense to him, and he knows he’s lashing out, but he can’t stop himself.

“Do you – ” Louis starts, cutting himself off abruptly and rubbing a hand over his face, taking in a deep breath before looking back at Harry for a long moment.

Finally, Louis shakes his head a little and continues, “I’m twenty-seven years old, Harry. I don’t care about being unmarried, or if people look at me and think I’m a spinster. What I do care about is that my family doesn’t go hungry, that my siblings have a roof over their heads. Do you know how hard it is to find a job when you’re an omega? How hard it is to find a job where I’d get treated with respect, as though I’m an actual human being, not just a worthless piece of meat? Because it is hard, Harry. It’s practically impossible. I took a job that offered decent pay, a place to live, employers who don’t try to take away my basic human rights, and I’m not sorry for that.

“I am sorry that I lied to you. I'm sorry that I hurt you.”

For a few long moments, all they do is stare at each other. They’re both breathing raggedly, audible in the otherwise quiet room, and all Harry can feel is the heavy weight of his heart in his chest.

“Sometimes it doesn’t matter how sorry you are,” Harry says eventually. “You need to find a new place to live. I’ll deliver a letter later, but you need to go.”

“That’s it, then?” Louis asks. His eyes shine with unshed tears, and Harry doesn’t care, not when his heart feels like it’s been shattered into thousands of pieces. “All of this, it meant nothing to you? Just casual sex between a couple of people?”

“We agreed that’s what it was from the beginning,” Harry reminds him. “You need to be gone in a month.”

He turns around to leave. He got the answers he came for, and he can’t hear anymore.

“Please, Harry,” Louis says, more of a whisper than anything. 

Harry pauses, just for a second, before he shakes his head and goes for the door. “I can’t.”

The door closes noiselessly behind him, and that figures, Harry thinks. It’s something he didn’t see coming.

 

 

Harry’s greeted with the sound of glass shattering as he opens the front door. His heartbeat picks up a little, but he’s not worried that it’s an intruder. Even from here, he can smell Louis’ scent.

Slowly, he makes his way to the kitchen. He’s entirely expecting to see shards of glass and ceramic covering the floor and half of his cabinets emptied. It’s exactly the kind of over-dramatic, childish thing Louis would do to try to get Harry’s attention, and he steels himself for it during the short walk from the door.

The sight that greets him when he makes it to the kitchen isn’t exactly what he was picturing. Louis is standing in the middle of his kitchen, surrounded by shards of glass, but from the looks of it only one thing has been broken. Louis is just standing there, looking down at the mess with one hand stretched out as though he’d tried to catch the glass before it hit the floor.

Harry doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t really know what to say, if he’s being honest.

“I came to get my mug,” Louis says eventually, still looking down at the mess. “The glass was on the edge of the counter, I didn’t mean - ” He cuts himself off, sucking in a frustrated breath. For some reason, he’s barefoot, and a piece of the glass must have nicked him because he’s bleeding, just the tiniest bit. A drop or two of blood welling up, not even enough to be sliding down his skin.

Harry still doesn’t say anything. Now that he’s noticed it, he can’t stop staring at the droplet of blood, transfixed by it. “I’ll just go,” Louis continues, “You can send me the mug in the post or something, I don’t know.”

He goes to take a step forwards, not at all mindful of the broken glass surrounding him, and something inside Harry, something that had already been held together tenuously, snaps.

“Don’t,” he says sharply. It makes Louis look up at him, bare foot hovering over the tile, not flinching, exactly, but wary. 

Definitely wary.

“You’ll just hurt yourself even more,” Harry says, stepping into the room, making his way over to where Louis is standing, frozen still. “Just – let me.” 

His boots crunch over the glass, probably grinding the smaller pieces into a fine dust, and he’s going to hate cleaning that up later. He doesn’t give Louis a chance to object, knocking him off his feet before he can regain his voice, catching him with an arm behind the back and the other below his knees.

Neither of them say anything as he carries Louis out of the kitchen, all the way to the living room, where he deposits Louis on the couch. Harry is all too aware of the fact that he’d passed the front door in the process. There’s just something in him that can’t let Louis go yet. Probably it’s the sight of the blood. There’s not even enough of it to be able to smell in the air, and Harry’s instincts are still fucking with him, demanding that he take care of it. Get rid of it, clean it up. Maybe even put a plaster on it.

Two days ago, Louis’ reaction to Harry giving into his instincts in an overdramatic way like this would be to wiggle his eyebrows, splay himself out lavisciously, and make some sort of innuendo. Now, all he does is slump backwards, folding his hands together like he’s resigned himself to whatever Harry wants to yell at him next.

Harry’s heart already felt like it was in thousands of pieces, but it shatters more, just from that look. He sits down on the edge of the coffee table, probably a lot harder than it’s really equipped to take, and he still doesn’t say anything.

What is there to say? He said his piece two days ago, when he told Louis that he has a month to find other accommodations. The feeling in his chest, in the pit of his stomach, there’s no rationalizing it. The only thing he should be doing right now is watching Louis walk out his front door.

“I was going to steal your black jacket,” Louis says abruptly. It’s apropos of nothing, random enough that the only thing Harry does is blink, eyebrows rising slightly. “The one with all the buttons. You gave it to me to wear a couple of months ago and it was the warmest thing I’ve ever worn in my life.”

Harry licks his bottom lip, chapped from the cold breeze outside. Doesn’t mean to say, “You can have it.”

It’s an expensive jacket, one of Harry’s better ones. It’s good for the few times of year it gets really cold out. Giving it away, especially to someone who lied to his face for eight straight months, shouldn’t be something Harry is doing. Especially not so easily.

Louis huffs out a breath, shaking his head and looking down at the floor between their feet. Harry’s still wearing his boots, tips of them almost touching Louis’ toes, and he hasn’t even taken his jacket off. He shrugs out of it now almost mindlessly, unable to look away from Louis’ face, what he can see of it.

“It’s not about the jacket,” Louis says quietly. “It’s – I wanted something to remind me of you. Something familiar.”

He reeks of sadness. Maybe a little bit of anger too, but mostly sadness. He smells how Harry feels. Harry has been trying not to let himself think the word too often, but it’s _heartbroken_.

Suddenly, Louis stands up, walking back to the door. Over his shoulder, he says, without any heat, “Because I love you, you dick.”

He’s gone before Harry even has time to finish blinking, much less process the statement. It’s not until he hears the creak of the front door being pulled open that he shoots to his feet. He doesn’t know how he manages to get there before Louis leaves, pulling him back inside and slamming the door shut.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Harry says. “How many times have I told you that you need to wear shoes when you’re outside?”

It’s the first thing he’s said in nearly five minutes, and he’s well aware of that. It’s important, though, and he can’t stop focusing on it.

“I guess this will be the last time then, huh?” Louis asks. He’s trapped between Harry and the door in his face. Harry can’t see his face, and somehow he thinks it might be better like that. Easier.

If only this was easier.

Louis isn’t making any attempt to move. Harry doesn’t know whether to appreciate that or not. He doesn’t even really know what he’d do if Louis did try to leave again. All Louis has ever done is make his life harder by making it better, a constant thorn in his side that Harry’s never been able to pluck out. He made it easy for them to fall into bed together, and a hell of a lot harder to let him out of it in the morning as time passed.

He lied, though. For months, Louis lied to him, and Harry doesn’t know whether he can let that go or not.

“So at what point should I start getting worried that you’ve barely said ten words to me since you got home and found me in your kitchen?” Louis asks. 

Harry didn’t realize that he’s got his arms up, caging Louis in place, until he squeezes him a bit, the familiar give of Louis’ body against his. “I’m thinking.”

Louis shifts, not trying to break free, just redistributing his weight. “Is there any way we could move your thinking to a place that doesn’t involve shoving me up against walls?”

For some reason, Harry wants to say no. If Louis is here, between Harry and the door, he can’t be anywhere else. It’s not easy, thinking when he’s so close, close enough that it wouldn’t take anything for Harry to get his mouth on Louis’ skin. The alternative doesn’t seem much better, though. Letting him go isn’t something Harry wants to do.

“I don’t want to let you go,” Harry confesses to the back of Louis’ head.

Predictably, Louis tenses up. “You’re the one who told me to go,” he points out.

“I know.”

When Harry doesn’t say anything else, Louis sucks in a frustrated breath, shoving backwards with his elbow, until Harry is forced to take a step back. Instead of trying to escape, either out the door or just from Harry’s arm, Louis reaches out and pinches him. Hard.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Louis says. “I never wanted to hurt you. And you know what the shittiest part of this is?”

He’s clearly waiting for an answer. “What?”

“If I wasn’t in love with you, I wouldn’t be sorry. I would have kept collecting my wages from your parents for as long as they kept giving me them, and I wouldn’t have been remorseful about it. Even if I just liked you as a person, I wouldn’t have felt bad about lying to you about the nature of our relationship. When it comes right down to it, I’m always going to be more concerned about protecting my family’s livelihood than stroking the ego of some alpha.”

Harry pulls back, just a little. “You’re not making it any easier to forgive you, you know.”

“Would you rather that I lie to you some more?” Louis asks, spreading his hands helplessly. “God, this stopped being easy for me the first time we slept together. I thought about telling you a million times, but I never did because there was some part of me that always knew how you would react, and I wanted to keep you for just a little bit longer.” 

He’s got Harry’s instincts all fucked up. Harry’s always considered trust to be one of the most important things in any relationship, if not _the_ most important. Learning that Louis lied to him for so long, it makes him want to pull back. But now Louis is here again, in his house, and Harry doesn’t want to let him walk out. Maybe ever again.

“I didn’t want you to lie to me in the first place,” Harry says. Even as he says it, he knows he’s stuck on it.

Louis chews on the inside of his cheek, just for a second. It’s a tic so familiar Harry’s heart aches a little from seeing it. He used to press his thumb against Louis’ cheek whenever he did it, partially to draw attention to it, mostly to annoy Louis into trying to swat his hand away.

“You were always well off,” Louis says. He’s got room to head back into the living room now, or even out the door, but all he does is step back into Harry’s space. “You were born privileged, Harry, in more ways than one, and no one begrudges you for that, but it gave you a rather narrow world view.”

So first he spends months lying to Harry’s face, now he’s insulting Harry’s upbringing? This is the person Harry’s been missing the last couple of days.

“When I was born, my family was fine,” Louis continues. “My mum and dad were still together, and one child didn’t exactly cause them to start falling apart. Then came another child, though, and another one, and five kids later everything was different. We were never rich, but five kids made us poor, and when my dad left, we struggled to put food on the table. And then I turned sixteen, and things got even worse, because instead of being an alpha or a beta with real job prospects, it turns out I was an omega.”

The words cut Harry to the core. He’s always been aware of how lucky he is, but he’s never really stopped to think about it. At least, not very often.

“It would have been easier for me if I married the first knobhead to ask,” Louis says. “Safety, security, even if only for me. It would have been one less mouth at the table, more room in the house for everyone else. I could never do it, though, and that’s probably the most selfish thing I could have done. This was an incredible opportunity for me, and I’ll never be able to thank your mum enough for giving it to me.”

He reaches up, drags his thumb down Harry’s cheek, slow and fleeting at the same time. “You were never part of my plan, Harry Styles.”

With that, he turns around, twists the doorknob, and walks out of Harry’s house.

This time, Harry lets him.

 

 

It takes Harry all of an hour to figure out what he wants to do. He grabs his black jacket, the one Louis had been talking about, and takes it across the street to Louis’ house.

It feels like it takes Louis forever to answer the door. When he does, he looks the same as he did an hour ago, still not wearing any shoes.

Harry thrusts the jacket against Louis’ chest. “I want you to have it.”

Slowly, Louis looks down it. He doesn’t move to take it, leaving it held up between them by Harry’s hand awkwardly. “I don’t want your jacket, Harry,” he says tiredly. “I guess you missed the part where I said it’s not about the jacket.”

Harry didn’t miss a single word of anything Louis had said. He knows what Louis said, the way he laid his heart bare, and Harry can’t let him leave without doing the same.

“I trusted you,” he tells Louis, dropping the jacket onto the porch and pushing Louis inside the house, closing the door behind them. “You broke into my house, you were constantly stealing all of my stuff, making unreasonable demands and throwing fits when they weren’t met, and I still trusted you. Then I found out that you had been lying to me for so long, and that trust was broken.”

Louis’ face doesn’t give anything away. That’s okay – he already spilled everything earlier.

“The thing is,” Harry says. He’s walking towards Louis, backing him into a corner, and he doesn’t care that it’s maybe a little inappropriate. He’s letting himself have this. All of it. “The thing is, it didn’t shatter. You cracked it, sure, but I can’t hold you trying to take care of your family against you. I probably would have done the same if I was in your position.”

“What are you saying?” Louis asks. He’s pressed up against the hallway wall now, trapped between it and Harry once again, and all of Harry’s instincts feel settled.

“What I’m saying, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry says, putting an arm against the wall, ensuring Louis really can’t go anywhere, “is that you were never a part of my plan, either, but I went and fell in love with you anyway.”

Louis blinks at him. “I lied to you.”

“You did,” Harry agrees. “But the thing is, you’ve got the rest of your life to make it up to me. And you might have lied to me, but I still trust you.”

Some people would tell him that he shouldn’t. That an omega who lied to him once isn’t worth his time, isn’t worth anything, isn’t _worthy_ of anything. All of those people would be fucking idiots.

“What if you shouldn’t,” Louis says, but he’s reaching out, curling his fingers in the bottom of Harry’s shirt. “I can’t stand here and promise you that I’m never going to lie to you again, overtly or otherwise.”

“I don’t want you to make promises you can’t keep,” Harry says, sliding his free hand over one of Louis’, holding it tight. “For the record, that time you made me dinner, I lied to you about enjoying it.”

Louis laughs weakly, stumbling forwards a step, bringing them together. Harry doesn’t waste any time enclosing him in the circle of his arms. “That’s not the same.”

“It kind of is,” Harry says thoughtfully. He can’t help dropping his head, inhaling the scent of Louis’ hair, familiar and comforting. “I didn’t want to hurt you by telling you it was barely even edible, just like you didn’t want to hurt me by telling me that our relationship wasn’t exactly unplanned.”

Louis shakes his head against Harry’s chest, and Harry can practically see him opening his mouth to object. 

“Don’t,” Harry says, pushing his thumb against the corner of Louis’ mouth. “I’m not going to tell you that it doesn’t still sting a little, knowing that my parents practically gift wrapped you for me and you went along with it, but sometimes your parents really do know what’s best for you.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, pulling back a little so he can look Harry in the face, “your parents found me on the street and were like, hey, do you want to sit on our son’s dick and make him happy in more ways than one? That’s exactly how it went.”

Harry makes a face. Louis imitates it, more exaggerated, louder somehow. It’s a stupid face, all twisted up, and somehow he still looks gorgeous.

“You know how I was always telling you that I don’t knot people I’m not serious about?” Harry asks. He has to change the subject, and he’s pretty sure this is a great way to do it. “I’m pretty fucking serious about you, baby.”

Louis ducks his head, hair falling forward to obscure his face a little. “You’re that serious, huh,” he says with a bit of a tremor in his voice. 

“I’m serious,” Harry says, tipping Louis’ chin up with two fingers so they’re looking each other in the eyes again. “How many other people do you think I’ve told that I’m in love with them?”

“Five,” Louis answers immediately. “No, wait, ten.”

He’s obviously joking, trying to deflect, make it easier. 

If Harry wanted easy, he wouldn’t be here right now. The easy thing would have been to let Louis walk out, move away, get on with his life. Clearly Harry is willing to fight for this, even if it took him a little longer to get there than it did Louis.

“You’re the first,” Harry tells him. “You’re the only person I’ve ever been in love with.”

Louis takes a deep, shuddering breath in. “Have I ever told you how much you scare me sometimes?” he asks, conversational. “The first time I saw you I knew you were going to mean trouble for me, but the job was too good to turn down. All I had to do was hang out with you every so often, make sure that you weren’t too lonely and that you were taking care of yourself. Just because you were attractive and an alpha shouldn’t have changed anything.”

“And then?” Harry presses. Maybe it’s a little vain, but he wants to know the story of how Louis fell in love with him.

“And then you were you,” Louis says, shrugging a little helplessly. “Kind and sarcastic and full of the worst jokes I’ve ever heard. Falling in love with you was never a choice for me.”

Harry’s chest feels warm. His entire upper body feels warm. If they stayed here for the rest of their lives, standing against this wall pressed together, Harry thinks he could be happy with that. As long as Louis is right here with him.

“You know what is a choice?” Harry asks, winding an arm around Louis waist and pulling their hips together, as tight as they can get. “Us going upstairs and consummating this relationship properly.”

_Properly_ , Louis mouths back, sound never leaving his lips. He probably doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

“Or we could take it slow,” Harry adds. “I could court you properly. Take you on dates, get our names in the paper when I ask for your hand in marriage, throw a big engagement party, a fancy wedding. I can wait for you.”

He would wait the rest of his life if that’s what it took. He’s never been the patient type, but he could wait for Louis. Would wait for him, if he had to.

“Harry Styles,” Louis says, looping his arms around Harry’s neck, arching up into him in a way that can’t be anything other than intentional, “I would have let you knot me the very first day we met. You were the one with a weird hang-up about it.”

A weird hang-up? A _weird hang-up_?

Harry yanks Louis up off his feet, supporting him with an arm under his arse. He doesn’t have any weird hang-ups about anything, much less about Louis. It’s perfectly reasonable to not want to knot people he’s not committed to.

“You are _infuriating_ ,” Harry says, ignoring Louis’ yelp of laughter as he ducks around a corner, heading for the stairs. He’s going to prove to Louis exactly how much of a hang-up he doesn’t have about it. “You probably wouldn’t even quiet down if I spanked your arse a little, would you?”

Louis shifts his weight, clutching at Harry’s shoulders with one arm, the other squirming its way in between their bodies so he can palm at Harry’s cock, pressure firm. “Baby,” he drawls, mocking Harry even as he rubs at his cock, “The only way you could shut me up is with your cock down my throat.”

Almost at the stairs, Harry stops, pushing Louis back into the wall. Most of the time, he’s fine with the way Louis pushes him around. Maybe he even likes it, most of the time. Louis isn’t a sweet and subservient omega – Harry’s never wanted that. It’s why he was single for so long. All of those stupid fixes Louis demanded he do in his flat, pushing, goading Harry into things, Harry did every single one of them because he was infatuated. Because this particular mouthy, prickly omega didn’t stop to think that maybe he wasn’t what Harry would want.

“Do it, then,” Harry says, letting Louis slide down the wall slowly, until he’s standing on his own two feet. He doesn’t add anything else to the command, doesn’t need to.

Louis swallows, throat constricting. It’s a pretty sight, but Harry isn’t going to let it distract him the way Louis obviously intends it to. He grips Louis’ jaw between his thumb and forefinger, doesn’t have to push to get Louis sliding down to his knees.

“Sometimes you pretend to be this gentle, easy-going alpha, and you’re so good at it that it’s easy to forget you can get like this, too,” Louis says, even as he starts in on the flies of Harry’s trousers.

“How’s that?” Harry questions, sliding his right hand into the hair at the base of Louis’ neck, holding him firmly. Not pushing, not quite yet.

Louis looks up at him from underneath his eyelashes, silk and coy, getting Harry’s trousers open just enough to pull his cock out. “In control,” he says, face like he’s giving serious thought to the question. “Controlling.”

It’s the same word, but he means two different things by it. If Harry wasn’t distracted by Louis breathing against his exposed cock, he might be amused by the wordplay.

“If I was really either of those things, your mouth would already be full,” Harry says. He curls his fingers against Louis’ skin just for the way it makes him shiver, mouth falling open that much more, close to pressing against Harry’s cock but not there. Not yet. “The only thing I am right now is crazy about you.”

It’s a simple confession, one that’s directly in line with everything he’s already said. The only thing he can do is watch as Louis’ eyelashes sweep back down, nearly resting against his cheekbones. Louis’ breathing against him now, warm and ragged even though they’ve barely even touched each other yet. 

“Okay,” Louis murmurs distantly, farther away than it should sound when he’s right here on his knees in front of Harry. Harry only has a second to wonder whether it’s something he should be concerned about before Louis is mouthing at the head of his cock. It’s slow and wet, hot, and he doesn’t go very far before hollowing out his cheeks, sucking so perfectly Harry’s knees threaten to buckle underneath him.

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ,” Harry grits out, using his free hand to brace himself against the wall, feeling for it blindly. Can’t tear his eyes away from the pretty picture Louis is making, down on his knees for Harry. 

Louis looks up at him, still using that eyelash trick, and fuck if Harry can stop himself for falling for it every single time. There’s nothing in the world other than the two of them right now. Harry wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from Louis if the house was on fire around them. Not when Louis is on his knees with Harry’s cock in his mouth.

He’s pretty sure nothing has ever felt this good before. It’s clear Louis has plenty of experience sucking cock, taking him in deep, inch by inch, every second of it wet and warm, tongue sliding wicked and slick. He doesn’t struggle with any of it, watching Harry’s reaction from underneath those fucking eyelashes, playing coy so well Harry might actually fall for it if he didn’t know better.

Harry’s never going to enjoy thinking about Louis having sex with other people, but there’s no denying that it’s benefitting him right now. He wants to come all over Louis’ face, all over those fucking _eyelashes_ , drench him in it, make him smell like he’s Harry’s more than anything else.

“You have no idea how beautiful you look right now,” Harry says. For a second, just for a second, he relinquishes his grip on Louis’ nape to drag his thumb across Louis’ cheek, feeling the outline of his cock, towards the corner of Louis’ mouth. Louis blinks, slow, pupils blown wide when he looks back up at Harry.

There were times, over the last few months, when Harry thought _maybe_ when it came to his feelings about Louis. Maybe there was something more there, something undeniable. It was always in passing, always pushed to the side as soon as he thought it, but it happened occasionally. 

He’s never been as much in love as he is right at this very second, with his cock two inches away from being all the way down Louis’ throat. It’s probably not the best time to be thinking it, and it’s not the first time Louis has been in this position, on his knees like this, has definitely let Harry do things to him that are way more intense, but there it is.

“I’m going to do so many things to you,” Harry confesses, sliding his hand back around to Louis’ nape, getting a firm grip there. Rocks his hips a little, testing. “Every dirty thing I can think of that I know you’ll like. I’m gonna spend the rest of my life doing them to you.”

He can’t stop it from coming out like a promise. Louis responds by sliding down those last two inches, stopping just above Harry’s knot, cheeks hollowing as he sucks. Harry’s brain threatens to bleed out his ears, knees trembling. It’s overwhelming, how good it feels. Harry loses his train of thought, fingers flexing against Louis’ neck, resisting the urge to fuck his face as fast and hard as he wants.

His knot is full. If Louis keeps going, Harry is going to come, even with no pressure around it. Any other time, that would be fine. This time, it’s not what Harry wants. He threads his fingers through a few strands of Louis’ hair, pulls him off as gentle as he’s capable of being.

Instead of pulling Louis up, Harry sinks down onto his knees along with him, putting his other hand on the back of Louis’ neck to lace his fingers together, kisses him with every feeling in his chest.

“You’re so lucky,” Louis tells him. It’s not the end of the sentence, but Harry can’t help cutting him off by kissing him again. Louis is trying to get onto his lap despite the fact that Harry’s not properly sitting down, and who is Harry not to oblige him? He sinks back, not supported by anything. Louis is in his lap before Harry’s arse is even fully on the floor, neither of them are even naked yet, and Harry’s cock is pretty much the only thing exposed.

This is a moment Harry’s going to hold onto for the rest of his life, he’s pretty sure.

“I am lucky,” Harry agrees. Slides his hands down Louis’ back to squeeze his arse, all too pleased at the way Louis arches into him. “So lucky you didn’t give up on me.”

“You don’t have to try so hard to get laid, you know,” Louis says, matter-of-fact. “I’m gonna let you put it in me even without all the sweet talk.”

What a fucking brat. Of course Harry fell in love with him when Louis talks to him like this. It’s a weakness.

“I’m gonna put it in you right the fuck now,” Harry says. He uses his grip on Louis’ arse to send them both hurtling towards the floor, shifting an arm up at the last second so they don’t actually die when they hit it.

It shocks the breath out of Louis, which is what Harry was going for. He doesn’t give Louis time to catch it again, kissing him while he’s still wheezing slightly. Then he strips them both, quick and efficient, never letting Louis go unkissed for more than a few seconds at a time. Louis doesn’t even try to help, hands getting in the way of fabric as he keeps trying to clutch at Harry’s shoulders. He’s distracting, immeasurably pretty, and he’s Harry’s.

Once they’re naked, clothes discarded in ways that will undoubtedly lead to a massive amount of wrinkles, Harry settles on top of Louis, between the spread of his thighs. They’re pressed together, bare skin sliding against bare skin, and if Harry doesn’t get his cock into Louis soon he’s not going to make it.

“So impatient,” Louis says, once he’s finally got his breath back, once Harry’s stopped kissing him quite so insistently. As though Harry is the impatient one of the two of them.

“You wanna remind me exactly how many times you told me that I could fuck you if I wanted?” Harry asks. He pulls Louis’ left knee up, bending him into a better position, and slips his hand underneath Louis’ arse, rubbing two fingers over his hole. “How many times you told me that I could put it in just a little bit?”

He’s not waiting for Louis to answer, sliding one finger all the way inside. There’s no resistance, only the soft give of muscle around him. Louis’ nails dig into his shoulders, sharp, a little distracting. He’s even wetter on the inside, the scent of him blossoming into something all encompassing. 

“I’m going to put my cock in here,” Harry says softly, murmuring the words into Louis’ ear, crooking his finger, searching. “Just like you begged me to all those times, knot you so full you’re not going to be able to move for hours afterwards, need me to take care of you until you can.”

Breathlessly, Louis replies, “You going to go on about it all day or are you going to do it?”

Harry adds another finger, crooking them together, and finds exactly what he’s looking for. Presses them against Louis’ prostate firmly. 

“Fuck,” Louis says, heartfelt and immediate. He squeezes Harry between his thighs, shoulders shifting on the floor. Changing tactics, he continues, “Fuck me, Harry. Please, I want you to so badly.”

Louis knows all of Harry’s weaknesses, and he’s using them right now. Harry has no idea when that happened. Maybe Louis just saw right through him from the first time they met. It seems plausible.

“Are you ready?” Harry asks. Spreads his fingers apart as he says it, trying to open Louis up in a hurry. He knows he’s beyond ready for it – really wants to know what it’s like to knot the person he’s in love with. Especially with the way Louis smells, turned on and ready for it, so fucking good Harry wants to lick him a bit. Right where he smells the most like mint and sugar. He’s not going to do that without coming, though, so it’ll have to wait until later.

“Yes, alpha,” Louis whispers, another ploy so obvious Harry feels kind of rueful about the way his cock throbs, falling for it so easily.

He takes Louis at his word, slipping his fingers out of that tight clench of his hole, lifting him up by the hips a bit so they line up properly, and then it takes barely any pressure before his cock is sliding inside.

Right away, it feels incredible. Harry has to grit his teeth to keep going, head dropped down against Louis’ shoulder, digging his fingers into the wood of the floor. He’s so tight, giving way inch by inch, and it isn’t going to take much to get Harry to come inside him. For the first time.

Once he’s all the way in, he has to kiss Louis again. Has to. As soon as he picks up his head, Louis beats him to it, breathing something soft and sweet into Harry’s mouth, tongue pressing against Harry’s. It’s a deep, dirty kiss, matches the way Harry feels in the center of his soul right now.

“So fucking lucky,” Harry says, lost in Louis’ mouth, in the way it makes Louis laugh. He holds Louis’ hips still, starts fucking him with the best rhythm he’s got, something like the beat of _Light My Fire_. It feels like the best decision he’s ever made when Louis moans in the back of his throat, head tipping back, exposing the long, sweet line of his throat.

He’s all but begging to be bitten. Harry has to fumble one hand up to cover it, pressing his mouth against his own hand so he won’t. His teeth are sharp against his skin. Wants it to be Louis’ skin so badly he can practically taste it. Thinks Louis would probably taste like mint the strongest there, underneath a claiming bite Harry lays on him.

Next time, he’ll do it. No matter how much he wants to do it now, he’s not going to until Louis gives him permission. And Louis is going to give him permission, Harry knows it. Needs to hear it out loud first, before he does it, and during sex is not the right time to be asking.

Harry’s going to work real hard on getting Louis to marry him before summer hits. He’s not inclined to wait any longer.

“I love you so much,” Harry whispers it like it’s a secret, hauling Louis up higher. He’s about two seconds away from knotting Louis, and he needs to say it again first. Needs to be absolutely sure that Louis knows.

The way Louis smiles takes Harry’s breath away. He whispers it back, eyes closed, fingers laced behind Harry’s neck, and it’s exactly the kind of implicit permission Harry needs to push forward, knot sinking into Louis’ arse exactly where it belongs.

It feels like he might never be able to catch his breath again. Before he knows it, he’s got his mouth pressed back up against Louis’. The kiss is uncoordinated, a little sloppy, a little too heavy on the teeth, but it’s all Harry can manage. Nothing has ever felt this good in his life. Nothing ever will, he’s pretty sure.

“You feel so good, baby,” Harry says. The tingle low in his stomach tells him that he’s going to start coming any second, and he wants Louis right there with him when he does. He fumbles to get his fingers wrapped around Louis’ cock, stroking him fast and uneven. Rocks his hips as he does it, as far as he can, and knows he’s hitting Louis’ prostate by the sudden clench of muscles down around him, the shocked little noise that comes out of his throat.

“Oh my god,” Louis says, voice cracking. His nails dig into Harry’s skin, the best reaction Harry’s ever seen, cock pulsing in his hand. Not coming, not quite yet, but Harry has an idea of how to get him across that line.

He ducks his head, sealing his mouth around Louis’ left nipple. It’s not gentle, the way he tongues at it, scraping his teeth across the tight little nub, squeezing Louis’ cock, rocking his hips. Louis comes, going tighter than ever around Harry’s cock. Harry starts coming too, biting down a little harder than he meant to. All Louis does is gasp, sob out something that doesn’t sound like English anymore, so good for him it’s all Harry wants.

Harry slurs something back, too far gone to even know what it is, cock pulsing heavy and wet inside Louis, so much come Louis is going to be sloppy with it. Already, he knows that it’s going to last a while.

Underneath him, Louis is soft and quiet. Harry lifts his head, and one of Louis’ hands slides off his back, falling against the floor. His eyes are closed, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He looks debauched, used and pink all over, come streaking his belly, hair sex mussed. He looks like he should be in porn.

“How does it feel?” Harry asks, brushing his fingers up the line of Louis’ throat. Can’t seem to keep himself from straying back to it.

Slowly, Louis blinks his eyes open. He’s so pretty Harry isn’t sure if he’ll ever be finished coming. Might just keep doing it over and over. “Full,” Louis says. He squirms a little, seemingly content when he can’t go anywhere. “Like I’m still going to be able to feel you for days after you pull out.”

He brushes his fingers against his belly, low, like he can feel Harry’s cock through his skin. Harry doesn’t even care that it’s another ploy, it’s so hot.

“You want to know a secret?” Harry asks, getting himself settled more comfortably. Puts one of his arms around Louis’ knee to hold it against his side, rocking experimentally. Takes note that it doesn’t seem to negatively affect the way Louis reacts, suppressing a low, happy noise. “You’re not gonna get a chance to miss it. I’m gonna fuck you every chance I get.”

Especially over the next few days. Harry doesn’t see much reason for them to even leave the house for the next few days.

“Who says I’m going to let you?” Louis demands, but there’s no heat to it at all. He’s just lying there, taking all of Harry without a single noise of complaint, and fuck knows there would be plenty of complaining noises if there was something he even kind of disliked.

“I do,” Harry says, kissing Louis again, short and sweet this time. He can see Louis getting sleepier by the second, trying to be prickly and failing. Harry loves it. “Gonna keep you full for a while, until it doesn’t feel so impossible that you let me, or until you beg me to stop. Whichever comes first.”

It’ll probably be Louis begging him to stop.

“I’m not going to let you. This was a one time thing,” Louis maintains stubbornly.

Well. If he’s going to be like that, there’s really only one argument Harry has for him. He puts his hand back on Louis’ cock, jerking him off, and sets about biting a deep mark into his neck. Not a claiming mark, but something that will bruise, show for days.

It takes less than two minutes before Louis is coming again, clenching around Harry’s cock and milking the last of his come out, whispering beautiful, breathless things, promises of things he’s going to let Harry do to him.

Harry knew it.

It’s another few minutes before he’s able to pull out. Immediately, Louis is pushing at him, demanding that he get off. Harry goes, only to be pushed down so he’s lying flat on his back, Louis more or less climbing onto him so most of his body is off the floor. It would make more sense if they got up, went into Louis’ bedroom so they could lie down properly, but all Harry does is curl his arm around Louis’ back, holding him tight.

They’re quiet for a while. Louis is breathing steadily against him, rise and fall of his chest oddly fascinating to watch. He smells even better now, full up with Harry’s come, like the two of them and sex. Most of all, he smells happy.

“We’re going to have to write your mum a thank-you card, I think,” Louis says, sleepy, index finger tracing idle circles on Harry’s arm.

It’s a weird thing to say only minutes after sex. Especially mind-blowing, first-time sex. “What?”

“I think she might have hired me because she wanted us to end up here,” Louis says. “That whole bit about wanting someone to look out for you was a lie, I’m pretty sure. She match-made us.”

Harry groans, squeezing Louis tighter. “Stop it,” he says feebly. He definitely doesn’t want to be thinking about his mum while he’s naked with the love of his life.

Louis laughs, delighted at Harry’s objection. Harry squeezes him harder and vows to find some way to take revenge.

Later, though. Much, much later. Right now, Louis’ mouth is beckoning him again, soft and happy. Harry’s never going to be able to say no to that.


End file.
